Within moments, the driver has taken his seat and the car purrs into life, moving away from the curb and into the flow of traffic. Not that there’s much on the side street that houses Carrie’s office building, but as soon as we’re out on the main roads, it’s typical London traffic. Cars are bumper to bumper, changing lanes willy-nilly, cutting each other up, honking horns… I think I’d be safer in an armored truck, being shot at.
I don’t realize I’ve spoken out loud until Carrie laughs. “What’s up, Flynn? Scared of a bit of traffic?”
I frown at her condescending tone. She’s obviously still pissed off with me, and I suspect once we get back to her place, I’m in for as much of a bollocking as a making-up session. I just hope she gets the bollocking out of the way first, so then we can take our time over the making up.
“No,” I say. It’s my turn to adopt a cool tone now. “Just not used to such crazy driving. Some of the places I’ve been, and people still take more risks here, just to get one car ahead.”
She seems to relent. Her body relaxes, and she settles more deeply into the seat. “Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s the main reason I have a driver. Not because I want to show off or anything, but driving in the city in just insane. You have to give as good as you get, otherwise you’ll be left behind.”
“Why don’t you use the Tube?”
“I do, sometimes. It depends where I’m going and what I’m doing. If I’m going to meetings, or visiting hotels in the city, I take the car. A lot of the time, going to and from my place, I use the Tube. I’m lucky, actually—I can jump on at the station just around the corner from the office, and be home in twenty-five minutes. I admit, though,” she treats me to a small smile, “if it’s pissing it down with rain, freezing cold, or ridiculously hot, I use the car. The last thing I want to do is turn up at work wet through with either rain water or sweat. It’s not a good look.”
“You always look good to me.” The words are out before I have a chance to stop them, and, oh shit, I’m being glared at again.
“You don’t have to flatter me, Flynn. Paying me compliments and turning on the charm isn’t going to get you into my good books. Though admittedly, I didn’t really know you had any charm until you managed to get past Diane earlier.”
I stay quiet. I don’t want to get the woman into any trouble, especially since Carrie doesn’t seem to be her biggest fan. There’s no way I want someone being sacked on my conscience.
“For all her unassuming looks, she’s usually quite the dragon. We’ve got security in the building, of course, but it’s not often necessary. Diane usually scares unwanted visitors and salespeople away without so much as batting an eyelid. It’s the only reason I keep her around.”
Still I remain silent. What am I supposed to say to that, anyway? She didn’t scare me, not really. Well, I wouldn’t have budged just because she glared at me, but if she’d continued to flirt outrageously with me, I might have eventually cracked and run for my life.
She waits a beat for me to reply. When I don’t, she makes a harrumphing kind of sound. “Are you sulking now? Have I upset you?”
“No, not at all,” I say, more breezily than I feel. “Just wasn’t sure how to reply to that. Where is your place, anyway? I can’t remember if you ever actually told me, or just said London. I’m beginning to realize just what a big place it is.”
“Hampstead. North London. In this traffic, it’ll take us another forty minutes, at least.”
“Oh, okay.” I settle back in my seat and close my eyes, wishing the traffic would miraculously disappear.
“And now you’re going to sleep on me? Fucking hell, Flynn, am I keeping you up, or what? Should we drop you off at your hotel, or wherever the hell you’re staying, instead?”
My eyes shoot open, and for the first time today, I’m feeling angry at her. I know I did wrong, and I’ve hurt her, but fucking hell, if she’s going to be bitchy to me constantly, I’m better off walking away and leaving her to it.
Breathing deeply to try to rein in my irritation, I turn to her and say, “For Christ’s sake, Carrie, I can’t fucking win with you, can I? I make small talk, and I’m in the wrong. I keep quiet, I’m in the wrong. If this is the way it’s going to be, I’m not sure I’m up for it. I fucked up, and I’ve apologized profusely, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make you trust me again. But I won’t put up with you speaking to me like shit constantly. I may not be an angel, but I’m still a fucking human being!”
She gapes at me for a moment, then snaps her mouth closed so hard I hear her teeth clunk together. She winces, and her features soften. “Shit.” Rubbing a hand across her forehead, she says, “You’re right, Flynn. I’m sorry. I’m angry at you, and I want to scream and shout at you, but we sort of have an audience. So I’m bitching at you, instead. I promise you this isn’t forever. Not even for another hour, probably. I suggest we go back to my place, then have it out behind closed doors. Say what we have to say, truthfully, and then go from there. Sound good?”
I give her an incredulous look. “I wouldn’t say good, exactly. But yeah, let’s go with that plan. In the meantime, let’s keep quiet, huh?”
She nods, then turns to look out of the opposite window.
Knowing she can’t see me, I roll my eyes. Looks like I was right about the bollocking, then.
Chapter Eighteen
Why do I lose my shit around Flynn? Why was I jealous that Diana had eyed him up as we walked past, and why the hell didn’t I just let him walk right back out of my life?
I am the woman who knows. I make the decisions, I don’t hesitate, but he throws me off my game and suddenly I don’t know what’s right anymore. As I stare out of the car window into the slow grind of the rush hour traffic, my stomach churning with the turmoil and anticipation of the argument to come, I try to get a grip.
What do I know? There are so few certainties in this situation. I know that Flynn has said he was in love with me. I know I was in love with him. In theory then we should just fuck and make up and live happily ever after.
Unfortunately I also know that he left me and I can remember every detail of my breaking heart and the path I’ve traveled to get over it.
There is definitely a need for closure. I need to yell and scream and curse, maybe even stamp my feet a little, and I couldn’t do that at the office. I’ve already bemused my staff with leaving early. I didn’t want them to see me in full on hissy fit mode.
I’m glad Flynn’s okay. One of my biggest worries was that he was dead in a ditch somewhere and there was nothing I could do about it. But he’s not dead. He’s alive, clean cut and smelling of citrus spice. It’s weird to see him so slick and in a suit. Even thinking about it makes my stomach clench with desire.
Damn the man, why does he have to be so sexy?
That’s another certainty. I still want to fuck him, God, I want to fuck him right here and right now. Even though I’m pissed off and scared and a frenzy of negative emotion. In the center of all that is a core of molten lust that wants me to forget all the rest and just rip his clothes off.
If I could just yell at him, fuck him, then get rid of him, maybe I could be back in control. I’m almost certain I would be. Maybe. Jesus, why did I have to fall in love with him?
The vehicle gracefully stops, and the engine cuts. I gather in a deep breath and pick up my bag. Grant opens my door for me, and I step onto my driveway. This is my kingdom, my castle. There’s a comfort in it.
“Thank you, Grant, I’ll see you tomorrow at the usual time.” My manners kick back in.
“See you tomorrow, ma’am.” He nods and turns to get back into the car.
Flynn’s jaw hasn’t quite hit the floor, but it’s not far away.
“Come on, then, let’s get this over and done with.” I sigh and march towards the front door without a glance back to see if he’s following me.
Once through the door I work on autopilot. I put my bag on the floor and slide off my coat, hanging it
on the hook by the mirror.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” I ask as I stroll down the corridor to the kitchen.
“Yeah,” he replies, the front door clunking into place. “Yes, please.”
The ritual of tea preparation is soothing. Filling and switching on the kettle, and grabbing two tall white mugs from the cupboard above the toaster gives me something to focus on that isn’t Flynn.
I grab the milk from the fridge, check the date and turn to walk slap bang into Flynn’s wide, manly chest.
“Jesus Christ!”
“Sorry, Carrie, I thought you’d heard me come in.” Flynn settles a hand on my shoulder, and I shake it off.
“Fucking hell, you thought I heard you stalking in like a bloody tiger after its prey? You scared the shit out of me.” The rage that’s boiled and sloshed in the pit of my stomach suddenly finds its catalyst. I slam the bottle of milk down on the side and stare at him.
“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing here anyway, Flynn? Why the fuck are you here?”
“Well, Carrie.” His tone is as abrupt and bile-filled as mine. “I just flew here on my brand new fucking fairy wings. Christ, you invited me here. You brought me here, remember?”
“I don’t mean in my bloody house,” I growl. “I mean back in my life! Jesus, Flynn, I’ve spent thousands trying to get over you.” Grabbing the tea caddy, I slam that down on the counter top, too.
“Money? That’s what it boils down to with you, isn’t it? Money and how much you’ve lost of it because of me.”
“Oh, yes, Flynn.” I wave a teabag in his general direction. “All you’ve cost me is money. Money for the hotel, the therapy, the big fucking bottles of red wine to drown my sorrows in. Yeah. It’s not like you’ve torn bleeding, raw chunks out of my heart or anything. No, how could you have done? I’m fucking heartless, aren’t I?”
I drag the top off the pot then throw a teabag into it with surprising accuracy.
“I’m starting to think so,” he snaps back. “Do you know how hard it was to even walk in through the door of your building? Do you? I’m a common man, an ex-soldier—Jesus, an ex-con now—and I have precisely no money whatsoever. What I had I used to buy this fucking suit.”
“You didn’t have much then, did you?” I mumble over the click of the kettle. I pick it up and pour the scalding hot liquid into the pot.
“That,” he enunciates through gritted teeth, “is precisely the fucking point I’m trying to make.”
“Ever since we first met you’ve had a hang-up about my money. Well, you know what? That’s your problem. I am not my fortune. I am me. The money is irrelevant.”
“But it isn’t, Carrie, it really isn’t. What I have right now I’ve been given. I’ve got literally nothing. Nothing, and you live in a fucking mansion, have a chauffeur, own a billion and seven hotels.”
“Three hundred and eighty-one, actually,” I rejoin. “Oh no, make that three hundred and eighty-two, I recently bought a new one.”
“See?” Flynn slams his hand down onto the marble top beside me. “How can that not be a barrier to us being together?”
“Because, Mister Self-fucking-reliant, I don’t give a shit if it’s my money, your money, or the Sultan of Brunei’s money that pays for stuff. It doesn’t matter to me. But it seems you can’t stand the idea of being a kept man.”
“No, I bloody can’t. I’ve told you that before!”
I step back, unable to be so close to him, as even through the red haze of anger I can recall how his hands feel on my body and I want him. Even now I want him. “Why the hell are we even discussing this? Like there’s a chance we could actually be in a long-term relationship.”
“Isn’t there?”
I look up, and the despair in his eyes is almost enough to break me.
“Don’t, Flynn. Just don’t.”
Grabbing the teapot, I give the contents a stir and slam the lid back in place, my frustration coming out in my angry movements.
“Don’t what, Carrie? I sought you out because every single day I’ve regretted what I did. Every single day I’ve vowed to say I’m sorry and make it up to you.”
“Make it up to me?” I lift the teapot and pour tea into one mug and then the other. “Do you think that’s possible?”
“I hoped so, but I’m rapidly losing all hope.”
“Look.” Picking up the milk, I unscrew the lid thoughtfully. “I’m going to be bluntly honest with you right now. I’m not sure there is any hope.” I pour a drop of milk into my tea then pass the bottle to Flynn without looking at him and put the top on the side.
“I don’t mean to be harsh.” I sigh. “But I’ve been thinking this over since you walked back into my life, and I can’t work out how to make it work.”
“Then I should probably just go—”
“No, wait, I’m not finished yet. Grab your brew, let’s go and sit down and discuss this like adults instead of just yelling like fools.”
“Are you calling me a fool?” he bristles.
“Stop being an arsehole, would you?”
I grab the milk and thrust it into the fridge, then stalk out of the kitchen and back to the front room. I take a look out of the window, unhindered by curtains and chintz, to the green grass and trees beyond. It always calms me. I might be a tumult inside, but the world outside hasn’t changed. The trees have been there for decades and will be there for decades more. If only I was a tree. Life without emotions would be so much simpler.
I sit at the end of my plush sofa and cradle my mug in my hands. Just as I wonder where Flynn has got to, he walks in, still looking annoyingly hot, if worried. He sits at the other end of the sofa but turns to look at me.
“So why am I here, Carrie? Enlighten me, please, because at the moment I just feel like I’m being used as a verbal punch bag. I certainly deserve it, but I don’t know how much more I can take.”
“You’re here, Flynn, because, God damn it, it seems that I still care about you and I don’t know what to do with that. You hurt me. People and things that hurt me are eliminated from my life, no questions asked, no exceptions. But when I think of you walking out that door forever, I … I…” The rest of the sentence gets caught up in the back of my throat, and the emotion that’s stirred around inside me slips slowly down my cheeks. There’s no stopping the tears or the sobs as I realize I don’t want him to go away again.
There’s a click as Flynn’s mug is put onto the coffee table and I feel him move up towards my end of the sofa. He pulls my drink out of my hands and then wraps his arms around me.
I crush myself to him, face buried in his chest.
“Shh, darling, shh. I don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want to lose you again.”
“You know,” I sniff, “you didn’t lose me, Flynn. You walked away. You pushed me away.” I sob once more. That is what had hurt the most. When I’d needed him, really needed him, he’d left me totally alone in the world.
“I know.” He sighs, running his hand down my back. “I know. I wish I could have stayed, explained myself, but I knew if I did I’d never go. I’d never face up to what I had to.”
“Bollocks.” I push myself out of his embrace. “Bollocks. I would have supported whatever you needed to do. You didn’t leave because you had to, you ran away because you wanted to.”
“I didn’t want to.” Flynn runs a hand through his hair. I wonder if it’s a leftover action from when he had so much of it. “No, I didn’t want to, but you might be kind of right. I was scared, Carrie.”
“Scared of what?”
He glances at me and quickly looks away again. I can see the pain in his eyes, so without thought, I reach out and stroke his arm.
“I shut away my emotions, Carrie. I lost so much in Basra and saw such horrific things. I won’t tell you, no—let me be totally honest with you—I can’t tell you, because if I recall those memories again I will break down and I don’t know how to fix myself if that happens.”
I stroke his arm again. The poor man is distraught.
“I didn’t know how to cope, so I ran away, went AWOL. I didn’t just leave the army. I left life. I was that desperate not to face up to the truth that I hid away from the world. I thought I was okay, but then I met you.”
His gaze meets mine, and his eyes are swimming with tears. I gulp, feeling the rawness of his emotion.
“I met you, and I suddenly realized that I didn’t want to be alone. You blasted away my barriers, you sneaked into my heart. I think I fell in love with you a little that first time I saw you, running barefoot and crazy in the countryside.”
“You did?” I gasp.
He nods. “Yeah, I did. I know it now. I could see all the problems piling up in front of us, but I ignored them because I wanted to be with you, then I was with you and it was so fucking good, Carrie, my soul sang. I knew…”
Flynn lifts his big hand and presses it to my cheek. “I knew I had fallen in love, and I wanted to be with you forever.”
“Oh, Flynn.” The words rush between my lips. “I knew then I’d fallen in love with you, too.”
I grip his arm tighter, and he pulls me closer until our lips are gently resting together. Our kiss is soft, tender and full of the love we’ve just confessed.
“Not yet,” Flynn pulls away, “we have to make this work, Carrie. We can’t just fuck now.”
“Erm, why not?” I lean forward and capture his lips with mine, pressing forward forcefully.
He pulls away equally as forcefully. “Because we need to work out how to make this work so the next time we fuck is the first time in a long list of times, okay? We can’t just let our chemistry get in the way again.”
I jerk like I’ve been stung. Rejection is a bitch. “Why do you keep doing that, Flynn? Why do you push me away every time I think I’m getting close?” I shake my head, dislodging tears.
Why does he insist on torturing me so?
“God, Carrie. I don’t know.” He sighs. “I’m not used to people wanting to be let in. I’ve never really been sociable. Hated school, Jesus. You don’t want to know my life history, but I had a shitty childhood, I was a fucking awful teenager, and then I was in the army. I’m locked up, tied down, and scared to fucking death of letting someone in. So that’s why I ran away, because I was thinking of letting you in.”
The Billionaire and the Wild Man Page 15