“You were?” I sniffle into his chest.
“Yes, Carrie, I was. I mean, I am. Well, I think so. Jesus, why is this so difficult?”
Because you fucked off and left.
I don’t say it out loud, but I think it. As great as it was to hear his confession of love, it doesn’t wipe out the last year without him, not knowing where he was or if he was okay.
Sniffling, I pull back. I can’t be overwhelmed by his closeness. It’s not at all professional to be sobbing into his big manly chest when I’m meant to be angry with him, especially when anyone looking in this direction can see us.
“So, what do you want, Flynn?”
He doesn’t let go of me as I step back. He holds onto me, stopping me from retreating. My heart pitter-patters with nerves, and my mouth dries. I don’t want to look up at him, but as the silence stretches and he’s still holding me, I have to.
Dazzled by the brilliant blue of his eyes, I don’t notice him moving until his nose is tip to tip with mine.
“You,” he whispers, and when his lips hit mine I remember the question I asked, moments that feel like years ago. He wants me. Flynn is kissing me.
It’s a dream, it has to be. The pressure of his lips on mine, the warmth of his touch, the way my heart is hammering, the blood fizzing through my veins. I’ve imagined this so often over the past months. It doesn’t feel real.
But then he pulls me closer, wraps his arms around me and the impact of his hard edges against my curves proves to me it’s real. I grip on to him tighter, afraid he might just disappear like the last wisps of a dream remembered, and I lose myself in his kiss.
Everything I’ve been trying so hard to forget floods through me. The way I feel in his arms, the comfort and disturbance of his closeness that has me pulling him tighter in and wanting to escape all at once. He overwhelms all my sense, and the control I’ve clawed back is dashed into a thousand pieces at his touch.
“Flynn,” I gasp when our lips finally part, “I don’t think we should be doing this.” I glance out of the office to see if anyone has seen us. I half expect my staff to have their faces pressed up against the glass walls of my office, like Flynn and I are animals in a zoo. Fortunately, it’s all clear.
“Then don’t think. It’s what got us in this mess in the first place.”
He’s kissing me again, and each time his lips impact mine I forget a little bit more why I’m angry with him as disgruntlement is replaced with desire. All that I can feel is how much I want him. I’m consumed by the joy of having him near, and the unease disappears as my thought processes slow and my body takes over control.
I still want him, after all the tears shed, the sleepless nights, the misery. All it takes is a few touches and I’m a wanton mess of need, putty in his hands. It annoys me.
“Wait.” I make one more concerted effort to stop him. I pull back and disconnect completely from his touch. “I can’t do this, Flynn. I can’t just forget. You left me when I was at my most vulnerable. How can I forgive that?”
“I don’t know.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “But I hope you can.”
“I trusted you, and that’s not something I do, Flynn. I sure as hell don’t give second chances.” I stride back towards my desk. The last year I’ve worked hard to forget him and get back to business. It’s been hard, and I know I can’t do it again. Flynn made me take a risk once, and I lost. There’s no way I’m going to repeat the experience.
“Okay, well that’s fair enough, but I think you should know that you’ve changed my life. I shouldn’t have run out on you, but going to prison, making amends, has brought me back to myself. I’ve come to terms with things that happened in my past. Without you I’d still be running from it.”
“I’m happy for you.” I keep my back turned on him in hopes that not looking at him will harden my resolve. “Now, I think you should go.”
“What carried me through my time in prison was you, Carrie. Just you. I’ve got nothing else. I know I don’t deserve another chance, hell, I didn’t deserve the first one, but I think we could be happy together.”
“Ha.” I laugh, running my hand along the side of my desk. I’m shaking so much I think I’m going to fall. “I thought that, Flynn, and then you broke my heart. Jesus, how could you just run like that? You know, I stayed in the hotel for a month just in hopes you’d come back? Every day I hoped, and every day I cried. How can I trust you again?”
Behind my desk I feel stronger. I sit down and hover my hand over the phone. One button press and security will come and physically eject him. I look at the phone, not at him.
“I’ve been asking one question for years. How can I love again? I never thought I could, and then a crazy blonde-haired woman ran into me barefoot and vulnerable and opened up my eyes. I wasn’t looking for love—I was looking for litter—but love found me.”
My gaze lifts, I can’t help it. He’s right there, standing on the other side of the desk, looking down at me. I look at his tie, because if I look into his eyes I know my resolve will disappear.
“From that moment, I wasn’t thinking straight. All I wanted was to know you more, to hold, you, to taste you. Everything I’d focused on myself, on surviving, I transferred onto you. I wanted to make you feel better, wanted to look after you. I wanted to be your hero. Stupid idiot I am, I even fucked that up and ended up the villain of the piece. Look, I might have done the wrong thing, but I did it to protect you.”
“Ha,” I scoff.
“No, really, Carrie. If we’d continued on the path we were on, you’d either have ended up in serious shit for aiding and abetting me, or we’d be living off the grid somewhere. And you’d resent me because you gave up so much to be with me. If I’d have stayed, we’d have broken up. I couldn’t bear that.”
I can’t argue with that. It was exactly what I was thinking myself after we fucked. I had wanted to find a way to make it work, though.
“So you ran away.” Anger makes me brave, and I meet his gaze with an icy stare.
“Yes, I did, but in my previous line of work they call it a tactical retreat. It was the best of a bad lot of choices. I took it, even though it hurt, because I wanted to do my best for you.”
“What?” I feel weird looking up at him towering over my table, so I stand up. “Your best for me? Abandoning me on the day my mother disowned me was the best you could do?” I slam my hand down on the wooden top and stare at him. Yes, I still want him, but now the anger is consuming me and even more I want to hurt him. “I don’t believe it. It was the most cowardly thing you could do.”
Even as I say it, I regret it. Stupid anger. It kicks in then fucks off when I need backup.
“You’re right. This was stupid, I’m stupid. So pretend I didn’t say any of that.”
In all the time I’ve known Flynn, I’ve never seen him look as hurt and vulnerable as he does right now. His shoulders slump, the brightness in his eyes dulls, and he turns away from the desk.
“Yeah, well, I’ll go.” He glances back at me and sighs. “I should go.”
“No, don’t, Flynn…”
He turns to face me once more, his expression hopeful. My heart clenches.
“I’m sorry, that was mean of me. I’ve worked really hard at not being a spoilt brat, but every now and then I lapse. Don’t go. I don’t know if I can deal with you staying, but I know that if you go it’ll break my heart again. Flynn, I don’t know what to do. I always know what to do—it’s part of me. I’m the woman who makes all the decisions, but you throw me into disarray. I want you, but I’m scared. I can’t cope with you leaving me again.”
And all the emotion, all the pain, all the uncertainty that I was determined to hold inside floods out in a loud, unladylike sob.
“Oh, Carrie,” he sighs. “I don’t want to hurt you. I want to tell you I know it’ll be all right. I want to tell you that we’ll be brilliant, that this will last forever and we’ll never ever be apart again, but I don’t know either. I
’m supposed to know. I’m supposed to be certain. I used to be, it was my job. All I am certain of is that I need you in my life, Carrie, and I want to try to make it work.” Flynn’s hand covers mine where it lies on the desk.
I lean forward. I need him. I really need him. I can’t let the fear control me any longer. I lost him once—I’m not going to let him go again the moment he’s walked back into my life. I’m the woman at the top, I’m the one in charge, and even when I don’t know what to do, I have to choose an option and stick to it.
I’m not going to let him get away again so easily.
Chapter Seventeen
The silence is excruciating. I can see the indecision on her face, and it’s killing me, though I know it’s my own fault it’s there. My own fault she isn’t sure about me, about whether she can trust me. The trouble is, there’s nothing else I can say to convince her—I’ve well and truly laid my cards on the table, put my heart on my sleeve. Now all I can do is wait for her to decide.
If I was the religious sort, I’d be praying right about now. Not that God would help me, anyway. Not with the shit I’ve pulled in the past. Lucifer’s more likely to turn up and give me a round of applause.
Carrie pulls her hand from beneath mine. My heart sinks right into my shoes, through the soles, into the carpet, and plummets down through the bowels of the building and lands with a splat somewhere in the darkened basement. There it will remain, dismal and alone for eternity.
That’s it, then. I’ve well and truly fucked it. Can’t say I blame her. But at least I tried. I’ve got my closure, even though I didn’t get the result I wanted.
I drink in the sight of her for a second longer, committing the beautiful, perfect image to memory. Because there’s a damn good chance I’ll never see her again—not in the flesh, anyway. I’ll probably see her on television or in the papers, her amazing achievements reported in the press as her career continues to go from strength to strength, but that’ll be the extent of it.
Letting out a sigh, I step back from the desk and get ready to take my leave. I haven’t a clue where I’m going to go, but right now, it doesn’t matter. I just don’t want to be here any longer, torturing myself by being in the presence of the woman that I want, but can’t have.
Just then, I realize the hand Carrie tugged away has pressed a button on the phone on her desk. A couple of beeps sound, then, “Yes, boss?” pipes out of a speaker.
“Tia, cancel all my appointments and tasks for the rest of the day. Something has come up, and I have to go out. Reschedule everything for tomorrow.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll get onto that right away.” Tia’s response is expected, totally professional, but even she couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice. This, apparently, is not usual behavior for her boss.
“Thank you.” Carrie presses the button again, cutting the connection. Then, without a word, she closes the lid of her laptop—one of those expensive MacBook thingies, I notice—and gets up from her chair. Crossing over to a cupboard set against the wall, she opens it and removes her bag and jacket. She closes the cupboard and returns to the desk.
I watch, confused and open-mouthed, as she drapes the jacket over the back of the chair, then rests the bag on the seat. Opening it, she begins putting in what she apparently needs—mobile phone, charger, iPad, and a few other things from the top drawer of her desk that I barely take any notice of.
Satisfied, she closes the drawer and zips up the bag. Then she puts the jacket on, shoulders the bag, and comes out from behind her desk. “Well,” she says, giving me a pointed look, “are you going to stand there looking gorgeous and gormless, or are you coming?”
“C-coming? Where are we going?”
She sighs. “Disneyland. Where do you bloody think? We’re going to my place. Come on.”
Finally snapped out of my stupor, I resist the urge to shoot back some comment that if she wanted to, she could probably fly us to Disneyland on a private jet. That’s probably not going to help the situation. It looks as though I may at least be in with a chance now, although I’m sure it won’t be as simple as being forgiven and forgotten right away, so I’m definitely not going to blow it by blurting out sarcastic remarks.
Especially since she might then call my bluff and take us to fucking Disneyland, which is my worst nightmare brought to life. Castles, screaming children, life-sized cartoon characters… I suppress a shudder. No thanks.
I open the door for her, then pull it closed behind us and wait as she locks it. “Nice office,” I say.
The look she turns on me is positively withering, and would likely turn a lesser man to stone. Just as well I’ve had training to help withstand torture—I’m definitely not out of the woods yet. “Really, Flynn? Making small talk now, are we?”
I’ve known for months and months how amazing this woman is. But now, faced with her in her natural environment, and with her hard-nosed confidence and business acumen, it’s blatantly easy to see how she ended up with the impressive office on the top floor of an even more impressive building.
And this, I realize, as we head silently towards the lifts, is just the tiniest sliver of her empire. This is where deals are struck, acquisitions are decided upon, research is done, decisions are made. But technically, this isn’t where the money comes from. Her business is out there, in the wider world, and I haven’t got the faintest idea about any of it.
It’s a startling reminder of her earlier words—I’m really not good enough for her. But I’m still not going to walk away, because I’ve been through hell and back to get to this point. I’ve been given a second chance at making a life for myself since being let out of prison, and I’m not going to squander it. I know I’ll have to start from the very bottom rung of whatever job I end up in, but I don’t care. I’ll work my arse off to get to a stage where I am good enough for her. Someone she can be proud of, someone that’ll be there for her through the good and the bad.
And the thing that will get me through all of this is knowing that, deep down, she loves me. She might not like me very much at the moment, but I hope time, and lots of groveling on my part, will fix that.
The atmosphere in the metal box transporting us back to ground level is so thick you could cut it with a knife. Christ, I’ve been in less tense war zones. I want to break the silence, to get some kind of dialogue going on, but everything that pops into my head is inane, meaningless, and would definitely qualify as more small talk. And I don’t think my ego can take another of those withering looks. Not just yet, anyway.
Finally, we arrive in the lobby. The ping of the lift draws the attention of the girl on the reception desk, and a look of utter shock crosses her face as she sees Carrie and me heading out together. She erases it quickly—presumably before Carrie notices and gives her short shrift—and pastes on a smile so sickly sweet it makes me want to vomit.
“My car, please, Diane,” Carrie says, her tone clipped.
Now I’m the one that’s surprised. I’ve never known Carrie be this way with anyone before. Sure, she was polite, but it’s blatantly obvious that she doesn’t have much time for the flirtatious Diane. She’d probably like her even less if she knew how she’d behaved with me earlier, when I was trying to charm my way into Carrie’s office.
Either oblivious or uncaring, Diane nods and reaches for the phone as we continue towards the front door, where the man from earlier opens it.
“Thank you, Walter,” Carrie says, and her demeanor is the polar opposite to what it had been with Diane. She likes this Walter chap, really likes him, and if he wasn’t some duffer who looked to be retirement age, possibly older, I’d be tempted to have a word with him.
Quietly, he says, “No problem, Carrie. You take care. Sir,” he adds, fixing me with a stare that seems to pierce my very soul.
Ah. As my brain catches up, I come to the conclusion that that little exchange was very revealing. Not only did Walter use Carrie’s first name, he used her nickname, which I’m sure nobody else in th
e building would dare to do. And he got away with it. Then he, only uttering a single word, managed to let me know he was watching me. He’s protective of her. Like a father figure.
I store the information away. I’ve no intention of bringing it up, but I don’t blame Carrie for needing someone like him in her life. Her father’s nowhere to be seen, hasn’t been for years, and her mother’s … she’s…
I push the thoughts away. The rotten old cow makes me so angry, I don’t even want to think about her. Carrie’s better off without her, anyway.
“So,” I say, unable to keep quiet as we arrive at the edge of the pavement, “why exactly are we here, when the car hasn’t turned up yet? And why didn’t you have Tia call for it? It would have been here by now if you had.”
“You think I don’t know that?” she says wryly, hitching her bag higher on her shoulder and crossing her arms. “I just wanted to get out of there, all right? Away from prying eyes, pricking ears. And I fancied some fresh air, too.”
I shrug, resisting the urge to comment that the air in London can’t exactly be classified as fresh. “Fair enough.”
Just then, the car pulls up, excusing me from having to think of anything else to say. The vehicle is sleek, black, and—naturally—very expensive. I move forward to open the door for Carrie, but she grabs my hand and pulls me back, shaking her head.
The driver emerges, hurries around the car, then tips his hat to Carrie before opening the door and handing her into the Mercedes.
Momentarily unsure whether I should be following after her or going around to the other side, I waver. I’m more used to jumping into armored trucks as quickly as possible, often while being shot at, not behaving in a genteel fashion with a posh car.
“Get in the bloody car, Flynn,” Carrie calls out.
I bend and see she’s moved over to the other side of the rear seat, so, with a nod and a murmur of thanks to the driver, I fold my large frame in through the door and sit down. The door shuts quietly.
The Billionaire and the Wild Man Page 14