by Annie West
‘Obviously you weren’t expecting to see me, Ava, but I must say I’ve looked forward to renewing our acquaintance.’
His stare settled on her cleavage and her limbs iced.
‘You’re even more beautiful now than the last time we met.’
Nausea erupted in her belly and she staggered away—only to come up against someone’s back.
Her breathing was shallow and fast. Her pulse accelerated to a frantic roar in her ears. She swung her head, but there was no escape. Every way was blocked by clusters of guests.
He said something but she couldn’t hear the words. Mesmerised, she watched those fleshy lips move, the grey eyes glitter avariciously.
She was seventeen again, and horrorstruck, dumbfounded and frozen to the spot.
Then, finally, her brain began to work. With it came a blast of fury so strong she shook with it.
She wasn’t going to run. She’d done nothing wrong.
‘How dare you enter this house?’
His eyes widened. Then he shook his head, his smile returning. ‘I have an invitation, dear Ava. From your husband. No doubt the estimable Flynn wanted us to renew our acquaintance.’
* * *
Flynn flicked his gaze across the crowd, as always seeking Ava. She was his talisman, his lodestone.
He frowned. Even from this distance her pallor was unnatural. She looked as gorgeous as ever. When he’d seen her in that red dress he’d wanted to crowd her back into the bedroom, away from the leers of other men. He’d always liked her in pale, classic colours, but tonight she was vibrant and enticingly sexy. Or she had been. Still stunning, she’d suddenly lost her inner glow.
His brow knitted as he read her stiff stance and the way her face drew too tight, her mouth a hard line.
Murmuring apologies, he ploughed through the crowd, ignoring outstretched hands and invitations to stop.
His eyes were on Ava. She looked...blank...still. And yet with a sense of banked emotion. Concern quickened his step.
‘I want you to go.’
Her voice was low, but he caught it clearly amidst the crowd’s noise. He’d never heard anything so frigid. It was hard to believe that voice was hers.
‘But, my dear, how can I? We haven’t had time to get reacquainted.’ It was Benedict Brayson—the merchant banker.
Flynn stopped beside Ava, sliding his arm around her waist. She vibrated with tension.
‘There you are, darling.’ He looked into her set face but she didn’t shift her eyes from Brayson. It was as if she were mesmerised.
Brayson broke the silence. ‘Ava and I were just—’
‘Get out of here. Now.’ She almost spat the words at Brayson, her venom shocking Flynn. ‘I don’t want you near me.’
‘But your husband invited me.’ The older man patted his breast pocket as if to confirm it. Flynn read avid excitement in his eyes. ‘Didn’t you, Flynn?’
Brayson’s enjoyment of the situation goaded Flynn’s temper. It didn’t help that the man reminded him of every pompous, arrogant ass who’d ever lorded it over him or his family.
Flynn slipped his arm from Ava and surged forward into Brayson’s space. He didn’t know what was going on. He’d sort out the details later. Whatever it was, he knew Ava wouldn’t act like this without reason.
‘It’s time you left, Brayson.’ His jaw was so tight the words came out as a growl.
The other man goggled, but stood his ground, his smile placatory. ‘Now, now, my dear chap. It was just a misunderstanding. The little lady overreacted, but I forgive her.’ Flynn heard Ava’s hiss of indrawn breath. ‘You wanted to consult with me about—’
Flynn’s fingers closed around Brayson’s collar, twisting, drawing the man up to his level. Dimly he heard the chatter around them stall.
He leaned in. ‘Either go under your own steam or I’ll eject you myself.’
Watery eyes bulged. Brayson’s face turned puce and he spluttered like a fish out of water. ‘I’ll go,’ he croaked.
Even then Flynn would have marched him out if it hadn’t been for Ava’s hand clutching his sleeve.
‘Let him go. You’ve got guests.’ She tugged hard. ‘Flynn. Please.’
Reluctantly he released his grip, watching Brayson slump back on his heels, his hand going to his wattled throat. An instant later he lurched through the crowd towards the door. Heads swung, following his progress, then turned back to Flynn and Ava.
He wanted to clear the room. Tell them the party was over. Take Ava somewhere private.
He turned, looking down into glowing blue eyes. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I will be.’ Her voice sounded odd.
‘Come on. I’ll get you out of here.’
She tilted her chin. ‘No. This is our party—our house. I’m not running away.’ She pulled back in his hold, glancing around at the guests watching so eagerly. ‘Come on, Flynn. It’s over. We have a party to host.’
* * *
‘What was that about with Brayson?’
Flynn tore off his bowtie as he strode across the room, eyes fixed on Ava. The stragglers had left and at last they had privacy.
She sat on the side of the bed, unbuckling her shoes. The gentle curve of her body and the slender vulnerability of her neck evoked a balling tension in his gut. She looked fragile. So pale still that her skin seemed translucent.
Yet when she looked up her eyes were brighter than he’d ever seen them. There was a palpable energy about her.
‘Thank you for that.’ Her voice was husky, but strong.
Something punched him in the solar plexus, sucking the air from his lungs. The force of her smile.
It wasn’t a smile of joy. It was too tight, too fierce. She looked as he’d never seen her—stronger and yet conversely more exposed than he could remember.
‘Thanks for what? Not making the scene worse by chucking him out bodily?’
His hands clenched. He’d wanted to wrap his fingers around Brayson’s pudgy neck for that sly, salivating look he’d given Ava. No man treated Flynn’s woman that way.
She dragged the pins from her hair and sighed, rolling her shoulders as her gold hair fell in thick waves around her shoulders.
Flynn watched it curl around her fair skin, glinting. He admired her beauty when she was dressed to the nines, hair up and make-up perfect. That was the way he’d thought he preferred her, as the polished hostess.
Yet there was another sort of perfection, he’d come to realise. An intriguing beauty in the rumpled, unguarded woman who gazed intently into his eyes when they made love. In her dishevelled pleasure when he kissed her till her lips were plump and pouting and her eyes shone. In the cute, secretive smile she wore when she tried to seduce him from his work. In her laugh, full-throated and husky. It was animation that made Ava truly gorgeous. Her happiness, her enthusiasm.
He hated seeing her distressed.
‘Thank you for standing up for me. For taking my side.’
Flynn frowned. ‘Of course I took your side. You’re my wife.’
To his astonishment Ava blinked and looked away, putting the hairpins on her bedside table, but not before he saw the over-bright glitter of her eyes and her convulsive swallow.
‘Ava? What is it?’
Instantly he was beside her, hip to hip on the bed, his arm around her waist. She felt warm and right in his hold.
She lifted her shoulders jerkily, head averted. ‘It means a lot that you confronted him. I know tonight was important to you—our first party at the Hall.’
Flynn’s brow pinched as he viewed her taut profile. ‘You thought because of that I’d let him insult you?’ There’d been no mistaking Brayson’s air of superiority, or his bullying.
Ava busied herself removing her earrings.
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‘Ava, talk to me.’ He took her chin and gently turned her face.
Her dark lashes were spiked, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She bit the corner of her mouth and something inside him turned over as he saw it tremble.
Ava gave a crooked smile that carved his innards. ‘I’m not used to anyone standing up for me.’
The admission filled the room with unspoken questions. He saw in her eyes, heard in her voice that this wasn’t some throwaway comment. This mattered.
Whatever the issue, it ran deeper than that ugly scene tonight.
He thought back to what he knew of her past. Michael Cavendish had always got his own way, bullying staff and strangers to do so. Flynn had seen how the other man’s family benefited as a result. Their lives had seemed easy. Now he wondered...
Or perhaps it was nothing to do with her father. Maybe she’d crossed paths with Brayson in London?
‘Tell me.’
‘He’s a detestable man and I couldn’t bear to have him here. I didn’t know you’d invited him.’
‘He’s heavily involved in a project I was considering.’ His arm tightened around her waist. ‘I won’t do it now.’
‘Just like that?’ Her eyes widened.
‘Just like that.’ He swiped his thumb over her bottom lip, then pressed a kiss there. Her sweetness tempted him but he dragged himself back. ‘Now, tell me what’s going on.’
‘I haven’t seen him in years.’ Her eyes shifted from his. ‘He took me by surprise, that’s all.’
‘That doesn’t explain anything. Tell me, Ava.’
Flynn watched her pull in a deep breath, her breasts rising beneath the rich, gleaming red of her dress, and his chest squeezed. He needed to look after her. She was his now. Hadn’t his whole focus been on building himself up to protect what was his? His mother, himself, and now Ava?
‘How can I help if I don’t know the problem?’
‘I...’ She bit her lip, hands twisting in her lap.
‘Yes?’
‘I met him that last year—at the Hall. He was a guest, staying for the ball.’ Her voice was small. ‘He was an associate of my father.’ She gave a huff of laughter and suddenly she didn’t sound weak at all. ‘I didn’t like a lot of the people he brought home. For the most part they were self-centred and unscrupulous.’
‘You meet all sorts in business. You don’t have to like the people you associate with.’
She shot him a sideways glance that was all azure fire. ‘Don’t you?’ She looked away. ‘My father seemed to attract the horrible, slimy ones. Maybe because they were so like him.’
Flynn stared. He’d known from what she’d told him—more from what she’d avoided telling him—that there’d been some problem between her and her father. But he hadn’t imagined the antipathy ran so deep.
It was one thing for him to know Michael Cavendish’s faults. Quite another for his beloved, favoured daughter to call him horrible and slimy. Ava’s comprehensive dismissal of the man shocked him. Flynn couldn’t remember her saying a bad word about anyone until tonight. Unlike him, she had a sunny disposition, open and generous.
Flynn waited. He stroked her bare arm, reminding her she wasn’t alone. ‘Whatever it is, it’s festering inside you, Ava. Wouldn’t it be better to share?’
Again that sideways stare. This time longer, her scrutiny so intense he felt it sear him.
Her lips twitched. ‘Says the man who never talks about his feelings.’
Flynn tugged her closer, relief shooting through him at that glint of humour. ‘I’m a guy. It comes with the territory.’
Besides, feelings weren’t his forte. Focus and determination were.
Her gaze slid to the far side of the bedroom. ‘My father was a selfish, cruel, heartless man. He never cared for us except as extensions of himself. He didn’t see us as people but as tools to be manipulated to get what he wanted.’ Her mouth compressed. ‘He was obsessed with prestige and power. With shaking off his working class roots and being someone important.’
That tallied with Flynn’s assessment. He’d admired the way Michael Cavendish had pulled himself from nothing to create an empire where he and his family were untouchable, safe and secure. What he hadn’t guessed was that he’d been just as ruthless with his own family.
‘All our lives Rupert and I were controlled, judged and punished—not because what we did was right or wrong, but on whether it suited the image our father wanted to present to the world. We had to be polite and socially adept. Our manners had to be polished at all times.’
The words spilled faster, her breathing growing choppy.
‘We weren’t allowed to be kids. We were too busy learning to be perfect—at least on the surface. I learned to ride and play tennis not because I wanted to but because that was what rich kids did. I had to win gymkhana events and anything else I tried. Every activity, every friend, was carefully vetted and approved. I could only mix with the right people.’
She shook her head.
‘You wouldn’t believe the pressure on poor Rupe to excel at sports and at school, or the thrashings he got if his results weren’t up to scratch. And when he developed a stutter!’ She shuddered.
Fire blazed through Flynn’s lungs. ‘Your father beat you too?’
‘No. He had other ways.’ She paused long enough for the hair to stand up on the back of Flynn’s neck. ‘It wouldn’t have done for me to sport bruises. I was his showpiece—the dainty, perfect daughter.’
She bit out the words with a sourness that revealed hidden depths of pain.
‘I had to look not just pretty, but elegant and self-assured. I had to charm everyone I met—just like my mother.’ Suddenly she stopped, swallowing hard. A shudder racked her.
‘Your mother?’ he prompted softly.
Ava sat silent for so long he thought she wouldn’t say any more.
‘You know, I always envied you your mother.’ She turned in his hold and he saw her painful half smile. ‘I barely remember your father, but your mum was always comfortable to be around. Caring and warm. I spent hours daydreaming about being part of a family like yours.’
Now, that surprised Flynn. He’d never thought of anyone envying him his childhood. He’d taken the love his family shared for granted, focusing instead on what they didn’t have.
‘That’s one of the reasons, even as a girl, I knew you were decent and trustworthy. Knowing your mother, how could you be anything else?’ Ava sat straighter. ‘Like the night you rescued me when I crashed my car. I knew I was safe with you. You were always good to me.’
Flynn met her gaze and felt something crack inside. He took a slow breath, telling himself that the strange, gutted feeling was nothing. Yet it wasn’t. It was something to do with the way Ava looked at him. With such trust and love.
He swallowed hard, shoving aside his long-dormant conscience. It had stirred too late. All that mattered was that he was here to look after her. The ways and means he’d used to get here didn’t matter.
‘Your mother was cold?’
‘Not cold. Distant. Afraid of him, I think. I don’t remember her ever intervening or taking our side. He didn’t marry her for love, but for her social position and pedigree.’ She paused, nostrils flaring as she looked at some distant point. ‘I’m not sure what she was like in her youth, but she became the perfect Stepford Wife. She did anything he wanted. Anything.’
She paused, her breath loud in the silence.
‘He used to use her as...’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Bait. Or as a reward.’ Ava’s hands came up, rubbing her arms as if to dispel a chill.
‘What do you mean, a reward? For whom?’
Shadowed eyes locked with his. He read pain so profound it created an ache in his belly.
‘For other men. Men
he was doing business with or wanted to.’
Flynn opened his mouth but couldn’t think of a thing to say. He stared, willing Ava to say she didn’t mean what he thought she did. Instead she regarded him steadily.
He’d known Cavendish was ruthless, but he’d never imagined him sharing his wife with other men to grease the wheels of commerce. The idea was utterly repugnant.
‘She was beautiful, you know.’
‘I know. I remember.’
To his youthful eyes Mrs Cavendish had been a stunning beauty—slender and gorgeously dressed, always perfect, like an old-fashioned movie siren. She’d never had to slave long hours in a kitchen, struggling to support a son and an ailing husband.
‘He used her—made her into a thing, not a person. A prize to be won.’ Bitterness laced Ava’s words. ‘It was all very discreet, but every year we had guests staying for the week of the winter ball. And I’d see things...’ Abruptly Ava looked away.
‘He did the same with me.’
The words were so shocking it took far too long for their meaning to sink in. When they did everything in Flynn froze. Even his heart stalled and the breath splintered in his lungs. His hand on her shoulder went nerveless.
‘I don’t understand...’ he said when he could finally muster his voice. How could Michael Cavendish have used her that way? His skin crawled. ‘What sort of man could do that?’
She was his daughter!
Besides, she’d still been a virgin when they’d married.
‘Ava. Look at me.’
Her head swung around and the sheer devastation in her eyes blanched his soul. Then her eyelashes fell, hiding her gaze. But the high spots of colour on her otherwise pale face told their own story.
Flynn felt ill. Because of the murky past she’d revealed, but also because for the first time she was hiding from him.
In one urgent movement he scooped her up and swung her close, sitting her sideways across his lap, her legs draped over his thigh. He tucked her head beneath his chin and cradled her close, rocking her.