Playing With Fire

‘What’s going on?’ Annabel said.

The talking stopped abruptly as they turned towards her.

‘Oh, hello, darling. I didn’t hear you come in,’ Ellen said, reaching to return the photograph of Annabel and her father to its place on the shelf. Although her red hair and green eyes had begun to fade somewhat as she aged, it was obvious that mother and daughter shared the same genes. ‘I was just reminiscing. Probably boring poor Aidan to tears.’

Annabel turned her attention to Aidan and felt a flutter in her stomach. Looking sinfully gorgeous in his black bike leathers, he started across the room to greet her. Had it really only been a week since she’d last seen him? Strangely, it felt like years.

‘What are you doing here? I thought I was coming to you?’

‘And I thought it would be nice to come and pick you up.’

‘You didn’t need to do that.’ In fact she’d have preferred it if he hadn’t. God only knew what the two of them had been talking about. In his efforts to get Annabel to bare all to him, Aidan was a shameless snoop, and her mother had never learned how to exercise discretion in response to an enticing male smile.

‘If you want the truth, I couldn’t wait,’ Aidan said, enclosing her in the feel of soft leather and strong arms, and pressing a tender but brief kiss to her lips. As she looked up at him, the fluttering in her stomach morphed into a full-on swoop. Framed by the glossy tousle of his hair, every bit as inky-black as the collar it skimmed, his stunning silvery-grey irises, ringed by a darker border of charcoal, looked even more striking than usual.

Especially as they were focused with such keen intensity on her.

‘Isn’t that considerate?’ she heard her mother say with a giggle. The words seemed to come from a great distance. ‘I’m so glad he came over. It’s been ages since I’ve seen him. We’ve been having such a lovely chat.’

Which was exactly what worried her. ‘How long have you been here?’

‘Not long.’ The way he smiled gave her the impression that he could sense her discomfort, which made her even more paranoid about what he’d been up to.

‘Well … I’ll quickly grab some things and we can go.’

‘I took the chance of bringing the bike, if that’s all right.’ Aidan released her. ‘And some kit for you to wear.’ He picked up a canvas bag from the table where two helmets also sat. Recognising the bag from the night he’d shown up to collect her from Cluny’s on his bike, she took it, knowing it contained a set of women’s leathers Aidan kept as spares.

She hurried to the bedroom, changed and packed in record time, and returned to the sitting room to find her mother and Aidan once more deep in conversation.

‘The exercises are hard,’ Ellen was saying. ‘Especially as I feel so weak after being bedbound for so long. But David is such a patient, charming man that he could get me to do anything.’

An unexpectedly loud snort escaped Annabel. That had always been her mother’s biggest problem. Since she’d found herself widowed, she’d let too many men charm her into doing anything for them. David, her physiotherapist, was merely the latest in a long line of infatuations. Annabel could only hope that Ellen’s ability to judge character had improved since the attack. They didn’t need any more disasters like Tony Maplin ruining their lives.

‘I’m ready to go,’ Annabel told Aidan.

He crossed the room but, instead of getting ready to leave, curled his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She hadn’t forgotten the arrogant proclamations he’d made in her office before he’d jetted off to Ireland, and it would seem he was intent on keeping his word about getting her used to touching. She could pull away – show him she wouldn’t be bossed about. But, truth be told, as tired as she was, all she really wanted to do at that moment was sink further into the feel of him, solid and strong and warm against her. It was a dangerous urge. Hadn’t she learned that it was foolish to rely on somebody else to hold her up? That the only person she should trust not to let her fall was herself?

‘We were discussing the importance of physio in aiding recovery, a mhuirnín. Your mother was saying that, even though it can be painful and unpleasant, it’s a vital part of the healing process. I’m sure you’d agree with that?’

Annabel flexed the hand of the arm that had been broken, feeling the returning strength her own set of physical therapy exercises was giving to the unused muscles. ‘Yes, of course.’

He smiled and nodded at her before turning back to her mother. ‘And you were saying much the same thing about the psychological aspect of your recovery, Ellen. That the counselling assistance you’ve been receiving has been every bit as important as treating the physical trauma.’

Her mother agreed with enthusiasm. ‘It’s been fabulous, really. So helpful. I couldn’t have coped without them visiting me in the hospital.’

Not liking the sudden over-precise way Aidan was speaking, nor where he seemed to be steering the conversation, Annabel tried to pull away.

The arm around her shoulders tightened, anchoring her to his side.

He turned to her. ‘Did you know your mother suffered terrible nightmares after the attack?’

Sensing an ambush coming, she stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him or answer beyond a vague ‘Oh?’

‘Yes, she was just telling me all about it.’

Oh. Across the room, she saw her mother nod again. ‘Absolutely dreadful they were. I hardly dared fall asleep.’

‘And now?’ Annabel heard Aidan direct the question at her mother although she could sense his attention remaining firmly focused on her.

‘Now … none.’ Ellen gave a happy shrug. ‘Talking about it has been so therapeutic, I sleep as well as I ever did.’

The arm around Annabel’s shoulders squeezed. ‘That’s great news, isn’t it?’

Crap. She was well and truly backed into a corner.

‘Annabel?’ Aidan’s voice sounded again. ‘Don’t you think?’

She was aware of both him and her mother looking at her expectantly. What the hell was she supposed to say? ‘Hmm, great. Can we go now?’

‘Sure.’ Aidan released her and went to kiss her mother on both cheeks. ‘Lovely to see you, Ellen,’ he said. ‘I’m certain, now that Annabel is looking into getting help for her own nightmares, it won’t be long before she’s looking as glowing with health as you are.’

Damn him.

As Aidan moved away to gather the helmets from the table, Annabel watched her mother blink a few times before her features settled into an expression of surprised concern. ‘Bel, darling?’ she queried. ‘Are you having trouble? I didn’t realise …’

Annabel sighed. She was never going to hear the end of this now. ‘It’s nothing, mum, I’m fine.’ Which was more than was going to be said for Aidan Bloody Interfering Flynn once she got him alone.

She narrowed her gaze on him as he came up and passed her a helmet. She really hoped that was a hint of smugness she detected in the lopsided smile he gave her, because she was going to take immense pleasure in knocking it off his face.

‘Let’s go.’

* * *

A short time later they were divesting themselves of helmets, gloves, bags and jackets in the entrance hall of Aidan’s place. Set on the fourth floor of a converted warehouse, the apartment was an airy, loft-style affair with exposed brick and pipework and an abundance of large metal-framed windows dominating the walls of the open-plan living area. Befitting the building’s architecture, the place was furnished in solid, masculine style – lots of dark leather and chunky wood, accentuated by shiny industrial appliances and the latest tech toys. It looked exactly what it was – a very well-to-do bachelor’s pad.

Annabel had been surprised the first time Aidan had brought her here. Working out that her own ‘executive’ flat could fit into the space five times over, she’d wondered how someone on a barman’s salary could afford such slick city living. Given his relationship to Richard Landon, her boss and the owner of Cluny’s, she’d guessed at family money. But that had been before she’d learned how successful a career Aidan had had in the financial sector before the credit crisis had hit and he’d lost his job. And very nearly a whole lot more besides.

As soon as his hands were free, Aidan reached for her. ‘At last,’ he said through a wide smile, ‘I can kiss you hello properly.’

He thought she was going to let him off that easily? She sidestepped around him. ‘That was a low trick you pulled with my mother.’

‘What trick would that be?’

She wasn’t fooled for a minute by the look of bafflement that replaced the smile. ‘You know very well. Cornering me with that therapy nonsense.’

‘Did I corner you?’ Aidan frowned.

‘Yes, you can stop with the innocent act. You know I had no intention of following it up.’

The smile reappeared and a spark of mischief flashed in his gaze. ‘And you of all people should know I play dirty when I have to, Annabel,’ he admitted without a trace of shame.

Oh, yes. She knew that about him. She also knew he was quite a contradiction. At times capable of being one of the most unscrupulous yet highly honourable men she’d ever come across. That was his charm – a dangerous charisma that she’d been wary of right from the start. And with good reason. She’d watched charmers in action all her life. Watched them trick her mother. Smiling to her face while stealing whatever they could from behind her back. Her money, her love, her dignity. Annabel had promised never to make the same mistakes; she’d sworn never to trust anyone, never to let anyone close enough to hurt her the way she’d watched her mother get hurt.

And yet, here she was, risking getting way too close to the biggest charmer of all. Never mind playing dirty – she was playing with fire.

Aidan’s expression sobered. ‘In all seriousness, I believe it’s something you should do,’ he said. ‘I know better than most the importance of healing properly after a trauma. Without all the rehab I had after the stroke – and I’m talking a veritable army of therapists – I doubt I’d be half the man I am, annoying the hell out of you tonight.’

Having quizzed him over their recent brunch about the stroke and his recovery, she knew that ‘army’ was barely an exaggeration. Aidan had been left as helpless as a newborn baby, essentially having to learn to talk and walk all over again.

‘I’m not saying it was easy or enjoyable, but it was necessary.’ Pausing, Aidan sighed softly. ‘Now we can go ahead and start an argument about my underhand tactics if that’s what you want, a mhuirnín,’ he said. ‘But we’re both tired and I’ve missed you. I’d much prefer to take you in my arms and take you to bed.’

And that was another concern. Annabel glanced towards his bedroom door with a mixture of longing and apprehension. Getting comfortable sounded delicious, but she didn’t want to make a nightmare-induced spectacle of herself in front of him again.

As usual, Aidan seemed able to read her thoughts perfectly. He stepped close and wrapped his arms around her. ‘You’ve nothing to worry about, I’ve been devising a clever plan to keep the dreams at bay tonight.’

Annabel looked up at him. ‘Oh, yes? What plan would that be?’

‘One that starts with a kiss,’ he murmured, and followed up with a soft, warm practical demonstration. Pulling back, he looked into her eyes. ‘Before moving on to stripping you naked and laying you out across my sheets.’

The heated promise in his gaze held her trapped, unable to blink. ‘And then?’

‘“And then” involves me thinking up new and creative ways to keep you distracted from your own thoughts for a very, very long time.’ He lowered his head again and this time let his lips linger against hers. ‘So long that by the time I’m finished with you, you’ll be passed out cold.’

He kissed her a third time, the press firmer. His tongue playing along the seam of her lips in a velvety caress that had her opening to him. The arms holding her tightened, pulling her flush up against his body as he deepened the kiss, claiming her mouth with yearning hunger.

And Annabel was lost. She couldn’t fight the desire he roused in her, even if she wanted to. She raised her hands and sank them into the cool, silky strands of his hair. Worn slightly too long and slightly too tousled, the style hid the fine six-inch line of scar tissue that curved down over his scalp a little behind his ear. Her fingers found it now, that permanent mark of the lifesaving operation he’d had following the stroke she’d learned he’d suffered only a few years back.

With his body pressed against hers, so warm, so vital, so straight and strong, it was hard to imagine that he’d been so ill, paralysed and helpless, his muscles wasting as he lay confined to a bed. The only physical evidence that remained of such a traumatic event was the scar and the slightly lopsided smile that had never righted itself.

That he was here today as he was proved that Aidan Flynn was a fighter. A self-professed dirty one at times, but nevertheless a fighter who was offering to help battle her nightmares with her.

With all that on offer, quite frankly, the argument could wait until morning.

‘Take me to bed, then,’ she murmured against his lips.

He did. And it wasn’t until a long, long time later that they found out whether his plan worked.

Annabel managed a solid four hours of exhausted sleep before the terror of another nightmare woke them both.

Chapter Six

Good luck.

Annabel read the text message that came through from Aidan. Even though he was busy in Ireland he apparently could still find time to remember, almost to the very minute, her appointment today.

His thoughtfulness made something warm and cosy unfurl within her chest; a sensation that felt much scarier than it sounded, especially as it seemed to be happening more and more often, and there was no way for her to control or protect herself from it.

Thanks, she sent in reply before switching the phone to silent and sliding it back into the bag sitting on her lap. Clasping her hands together atop the leather, she aimed her gaze at the framed print of a generic pastel landscape on the wall opposite. This wasn’t the time or place to let thoughts of Aidan Flynn unsettle her nerves.

Because, much to her own surprise, this was the second time in as many weeks she’d found herself waiting in the carefully decorated blandness of her local Victim Support offices. Following the sneaky ambush Aidan had sprung on the night he’d come to pick her up from her flat, she’d known that neither he nor her mother would give up on the subject of getting the help they thought she needed for her nightmares. She’d figured the easiest way to get them off her back, or to stop them going behind it and setting up something themselves, was to agree to make an appointment.

By taking the initiative, at least she got to stay in charge and make the choices that seemed right for herself. And, after weighing up various options, she’d decided that the Victim Support service sounded most suited to her needs, not least because the terminology they used sounded so normal. There was no counselling this, or therapist that, no sessions, nothing to imply that she was in any way mentally weak or unstable. There were just nice, straightforward-sounding visits with volunteers.

Aidan had insisted on delivering her here for her first visit, which she found pretty hypocritical of him considering the way he went on about her supposed issues with trust. But again, for the sake of getting this whole unnecessary exercise over and done with as quickly and easily as possible, she’d decided to go along with it, even though it had meant cutting off any chance she’d had of ducking out. She’d figured she’d only need to get through an hour, after all, to satisfy everyone’s concern. After that she’d insist that one session was enough and she could regain control of her life. And not a moment too soon. It seemed she was doing a lot of giving in to other people’s demands, all of a sudden.

In the event, giving into this particular demand had turned out nowhere near as bad as she’d feared. She’d been introduced to Susan, a friendly, practical woman of around her own age whose fashion sense ran to smart urban without a string of hippy beads or pair of woven hemp sandals in sight. Thankfully, there’d been none of the touchy-feely New Age jargon she’d been dreading either.

Nevertheless, walking into the meeting room she’d been as uncomfortable as she’d ever been. No doubt sensing Annabel’s initial reticence from her stiff, monosyllabic answers, Susan had allowed her time to unbend by turning the spotlight on herself. Filling what would otherwise have been a series of awkward silences with a little of her own background, she’d explained that she was also a survivor of an assault, who’d been inspired to become a volunteer after the help she’d received from the service.

Annabel had been surprised enough by Susan’s candid manner to forget about her own self-consciousness long enough to start talking. And once she’d started, it turned out she had quite a bit to say. Verbalising the events of the attack hadn’t caused anywhere near as much upset or panic as she’d envisaged. In fact, taking the time to inspect the half-hazy memories in order to lay them out in sequence actually helped her view them more calmly, feel more in control. That’s why, when her hour had ended before she’d known it and Susan had asked whether she’d like to make another appointment, she’d agreed to come back.

It had all been surprisingly easy. As was her budding ‘go slow’ relationship with Aidan, despite all his overbearing tendencies. A part of her at least was beginning to recognise that he did things because he cared, and an even smaller part was beginning to learn to grudgingly accept that. Used as she was to being alone, it wasn’t always easy, but, with Aidan’s unique brand of ruthless patience, she felt she might eventually get there.

Between her work commitments and Aidan’s numerous trips to Ireland, they’d found the opportunity to squeeze in a few more dates over the past couple of weeks. They’d ticked the boxes marked ‘dinner’ and ‘show’ and had even been ice-skating. And the week after next, to coincide with her scheduled double day off work and Aidan’s return from his latest trip to Ireland, they were graduating to a night away.

‘Annabel?’ At the sound of her name she looked up to see Susan making her way across the waiting room with a warm smile. ‘Lovely to see you again. Would you like to come through?’

Noting the short, printed skirt teamed with a great-fitting cashmere sweater and knee-high black suede boots, all of which reaffirmed her first impression of young, fashionable, normal, Annabel felt the nervousness she’d been trying to ignore suddenly ease. She stood and shook the proffered hand. She could do this.

* * *

A fortnight later, Annabel and Aidan set out from London in weather that, for a late March morning, was glorious. An early spring sun shone down from a cloudless, powder-blue sky, lending an unseasonable warmth to the air.

With the heat of that sun on her shoulders, and the wind tugging at the ends of her braided hair, Annabel felt lighter, happier than she could remember being in … well, in far too long.

It wasn’t only the bright weather lifting her spirits, she knew. It was also the bike that surged powerfully beneath her, the sense of freedom and excitement the sleek black and chrome Triumph Thunderbird inspired as it sped her away from her everyday life.

And, yes, being wrapped around the fine, leather-clad figure of Aidan Flynn definitely didn’t hurt. Closing her eyes against the outer-city scenery streaming by, she tightened her hold around his waist and nestled closer against his back, resting her helmeted head between the blades of his broad shoulders. With the world shut out, it was easy to feel every movement he made – each breath inflating his chest, every shift of weight pulling the flat planes of his stomach taut as he navigated skilfully through the mid-morning traffic with a natural confidence that left her feeling relaxed, trusting. Not only was Aidan Flynn irresistibly sex-on-a-stick lickable, he was starting to feel … safe.

He was also a man of his word. Keeping to his promise of dating her properly, he’d arranged a night away in a luxury country-house spa hotel somewhere near the city of Bath. In honour of the occasion – a first for her – she’d bought a new dress and swimsuit, which were currently stowed with the rest of her gear in one of the bike’s panniers.

Joining the M4 motorway, they left London behind at speed. They stopped after about an hour for coffee and refuelled before resuming their journey on more scenic A and B roads.

It had been a while since she’d been outside the capital, and more than twenty years since she’d ventured so far to the South West. As much as she enjoyed the journey and sightseeing, she was so looking forward to being wined and dined and pampered that she found herself counting down the miles on the road signs they passed.

When they reached a major roundabout and continued past the first exit signposted to Bath, she guessed they were drawing near to their destination. However, when they merged onto a fast-moving A road heading north, and sped along it towards Gloucester, a new alertness started to seep into her carefree mood.

Where exactly were they headed? Thinking back on their discussions, she realised she had no idea of the specifics beyond Aidan’s vague mention of Bath and his more animated description of the innovative biodynamic kitchen garden the hotel used to supply the in-house restaurant, from which he hoped to garner some ideas for incorporating a similar scheme into his Tulaí venture.

But, whizzing along in the fast lane with the throttle open, she noted they were heading well away from Bath and showing no signs of slowing down. She felt a twinge of unease as the road signs on their new route began to feature names she recognised from a long time ago, names like Malmesbury and Stroud that told her they were heading north, towards the heart of the Cotswolds.

Surely, with the entire South of England countryside to choose from, he couldn’t have happened to choose the one area she never wanted to see again as long as she lived? An area filled with too many heartbreaking memories. What were the chances of that?

The slightly sick feeling of apprehension rising in her stomach told her she couldn’t take the risk of waiting to see. She needed to find out exactly where they were headed. But with little traffic to slow them down on the long stretches of country road, Aidan seemed lost in the pleasure of putting the bike through its paces, keeping their speed high enough to make communicating difficult.

Realising the danger of distracting him too suddenly, she tried to get his attention by squeezing him around his waist. After a couple of attempts, she felt their speed drop a little, felt Aidan shift as one of his gloved hands covered hers and squeezed back. Relief had barely begun to register before he leaned forward to grip the handlebars again and, with a renewed kick of power, the bike surged forward once more.

What? No. He’d misunderstood and now they were going even faster than before. She tried squeezing him a few more times, but the action was obviously failing to convey her urgency as they kept motoring along regardless. As the name Tetbury began to appear with increasing regularity her alertness grew into apprehension – that was a place that really was too close to the past for comfort.

Cautiously, she loosened one of her arms and tried to get Aidan’s attention by tapping him on the ribs.

Thank God that seemed to work. She felt the power throttle back and the bike begin to slow. Aidan’s hand covered hers again, giving a brief pat of acknowledgement. Ahead, she saw a crossroad junction and realised they were slowing their approach. Good, that would give her the opportunity to tell him to pull over, turn around. And not a moment too soon, she realised with a lurch of panic. With the signs ahead pointing left to Wootton-under-Edge and right to Tetbury, Annabel suddenly realised precisely where they were.