Plaisirs, Tome 2.5 : A Touch of Summer

ONE

Flynn shifted in his chair and watched helplessly as her hands slid down her golden thigh, stroking the oil into her skin. Such smooth skin. She poured a little more of the golden liquid into the palm of her hand and rubbed it onto her other leg. Up and down on her long thighs. Her skin gleamed in the dim light as the oil coated it. God, he wanted to lick it off her.

Her hands moved upwards, smoothing oil into her stomach. Round and round went those tantalizing fingers, sweeping up from her belly-button to the edge of her breasts. He wanted those delicate fingers on him. Rubbing oil into his skin. Wrapped around his cock. Moving up and down, moving—

'Something the matter, Flynn?' Summer asked innocently.

That was an act. Summer O’Sullivan hadn’t been innocent since the day she was born. She was a siren from the top of her tousled chocolate brown hair to the tips of her painted toenails. His attempt to make her less attractive by packing only casual clothes and no make-up had backfired badly.

She wasn’t a society princess now; she was an approachable girl next door. If the girl next door was temptation wrapped up in sweetly scented package.

'Flynn?' Summer said.

Damn, he had to scramble to remember what she had asked him. 'No, nothing’s the matter,' he said.

She handed him the bottle. 'Then could you do my back?'

She unknotted the t-shirt from under her breasts and pulled it off over her head. She presented her back to him. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

He gripped the bottle, trying to keep hold of his sanity. The rounded edges dug into his hand. He looked down at it. 'Olive oil? You’re rubbing yourself with olive oil?'

Summer tossed her hair, looking over her shoulder at him. 'You didn’t pack any body moisturizer for me. This is the closest thing I can find.' Her back was bare, a lure to his hands.

Client. She’s the client, Flynn reminded himself. He had to keep his hands off her, or he would be off the job. He noticed that his hands were trembling.

He shoved the bottle back into her hand. 'Do your own back.' There was a limit to what even a hardened former Irish Ranger could tolerate. He couldn’t take much more of this.

He headed out of the tiny croft that he was sharing with Summer. As accommodation went, it was basic. OK, it was primitive. Very primitive. It was his great-grandmother’s family croft, and it needed a ton of work to be considered basic. But as a safe house, it was second to none. No one would get close enough to endanger his client here.

He just hadn’t factored in how difficult it would be to share this space with Summer and keep his hands to himself.

It was raining outside, as close to a cold shower as the Scottish Highlands got, and he welcomed it.

His sat-phone was in the jeep. Still keeping an eye on the croft to make sure Summer hadn’t followed him out, he dialled his boss’s number. 'Niall, this is not working. I’m going stir crazy here.'

Niall Moore laughed. 'You picked it.'

Flynn cursed, not bothering to censor his language. Niall had been a Ranger too, he had heard worse. 'I’m serious, we’re both about to go out of our minds here.'

'Yeah well, forgive me if I’m not full of sympathy for you. I’m up on the Isle of Brona for the Special Forces war-games. The SAS are hosting this year, and even using retired guys I’m down a man. So far, it’s me, McTavish and Reilly. I need a fourth in a hurry. Any suggestions?'

'Me. I can be your fourth man.'

It was the answer to his prayers. He knew of Brona. It was deserted, isolated, and perfect for war games. And perfect for keeping Summer safe while allowing him to get his self-control back. With Niall, McTavish and Reilly there, she would be safe from everything except a nuclear attack.

Seconds ticked by while Niall considered it. Finally he said, 'I suppose you could. OK, get your ass up to Brona.'

Yes! Flynn punched the air. Now he had to tell Summer.

There was no doubt about it, Flynn was hot. That slow purposeful stride as he walked outside sent a tingle down her spine. A week. A whole week locked up in a remote Scottish cabin with him and already he was driving her crazy. She had watched him chop enough wood to last several winters while trying to ignore the slick of sweat on his arms and abs. Flynn had remained his usual cool, professional, annoying self.