Chapter 3

CHASTITY

It’s true that I don’t have a lot of friends, but those I do have, I consider more like family. Paisley is the sister I never had, which is odd, considering I haven’t known her all that long. But I love her all the same. And I love hanging out with her and Keir, her new husband. I even like his friends. Well, most of them. I refuse to include Flynn Phillips, though it’s strange that my body seems to know the minute he walks into their kitchen. A brush of anticipation dances from the nape of my neck down, causing me to turn at the same moment as he enters the room. Our eyes meet, electricity humming between the space. It really is the most shocking of things until I let my eyes wander over him . . . and I’m met by the most ridiculous outfit I’ve ever seen.

‘I don’t remember saying today was fancy dress.’ Keir sounds wearily amused as he relieves him of a bottle of red wine and a very decent bottle of champagne.

‘Mate, you invited me to a barbie.’ I’d forgotten how much his voice affects me. There’s something about that drawn-out, lazy speech pattern of his coupled with his deep tone. ‘This,’ he says, plucking at his shirt, ‘is suitable attire.’ Ah-tie-ahh. ‘Boardies, thongs, and my sunnies.’

One arm wrapped around my waist, I bring my glass to my lips to hide my snigger. Sunnies, I guess, are sunglasses. Boardies, board shorts, and while I know thongs are what Australians call flip-flops, here in England, they’re flimsy bits of underwear that get stuck between the cheeks of your bum.

‘What are you laughing at?’ Flynn asks. Despite his relaxed demeanour, I can almost physically feel the touch of his gaze. ‘I suppose if a bloke comes to a barbecue at your place, he’s expected to wear a tux.’

Immediately, the prickling hairs on my neck turn to bristling spines. Spines that I tamp down, though I can’t help my vinegary reply. ‘Oh, that’s right.’ My tone is heavy with false sympathy. ‘You wouldn’t know, would you? You’ve never been invited?’

‘I’ll just go open this and, er, let it breathe,’ Keir says, tactically raising the bottle of red. As he pulls open one of the French doors, a gust of cold air sweeps through the room before he steps out, closing the door behind him. The room falls quiet, and I begin to feel mean. I shouldn’t be so unfriendly, only—

‘That’s true.’ My attention snaps to Flynn once again. ‘I haven’t been invited to your home.’ I don’t fail to notice his eyes travelling over me blatantly this time. It’s definitely not a casual glance, more like a thorough inventory. And the bastard knows—does it on purpose, even. All to draw a reaction. A reaction I’m not in charge of, it seems. My throat is dry, and my nipples are hard enough to poke out an eye, and let’s not talk about the reaction currently dancing between my legs.

He steps closer. Close enough to make my nerve endings erratic. Close enough to make my fingers twitch with the desire to pull him to me by the front of his ridiculous tropical print shirt.

‘I might never have been invited into your house, duchess,’ he repeats in a husky whisper, bending his mouth to my ear. ‘But I was lucky enough to receive an invitation into your underwear.’

The absolute bastard.

Instinctively, I unwrap my hand from my waist and press it to his chest. I think if it weren’t for the recent presence of Keir, I might use it to push him up against the wall to see if I can discover where he’s hidden my orgasm. Because I’m suddenly sure it’ll be on him somewhere. Say, on his fingers, his tongue, or maybe his dick . . . Instead, my brain sends a barrage of cock-blocking words tumbling from my mouth, clit-oference, if you will.

‘I thought we agreed not to mention that night.’

It’s not surprising I’m sabotaging my own plans. For one, I don’t like him very much. I don’t think. Even if he smells so divine.

‘Did we?’ His forehead creases as though deep in thought before his eyes rise to mine, his gaze full of daring. Full of mischief. Somehow, I know he’s going to say something provocative, yet I’m still unprepared for how his words make me feel.

‘Nah, that’s not right.’ His accent renders the words into a drawl with a serve of taunt. Not roi-t. ‘I think what was said was that you’d prefer to pretend it didn’t happen. To forget. But I haven’t.’ His eyes make another shameless sweep of my body. ‘I haven’t forgotten one bit of it.’

Oh. My. God.

I came here today with a plan. A plan to get my orgasm back. Well, maybe it wasn’t so much a plan as it was a demand—a demand for a second go on the Flynn ride. See, I’ve decided the blockage is all in my head. I’ve made too much out of the night we spent together—it can’t really have been that good.

So I’d decided a do-over would work. A one-time deal—okay, another one-time deal—here on my own turf, where the tropical setting wouldn’t seduce me, or I wouldn’t be drinking the wedding-romance-y Kool-Aid. But it’s not going to work if he keeps looking at me like that, not if he keeps speaking to me in a tone that reminds me of rum cocktails, sunshine, and mind-blowing sex.

‘Flynn!’ The man staggers back as Keir’s daughter comes barrelling into the room. Flinging her arms around his waist, she squeezes him tight. ‘Why are you dressed for the beach?’ she asks. Stumbling back, she’s prevented from falling by Keir’s hands as he catches her.

‘Watch it, Sorch.’ His voice trembles with laughter. ‘You’ll have Agnes coming after me with her rolling pin, or so your dad says. And I’m not dressed for the beach; I’m dressed for a barbecue. So the question should be, why are you dressed for a patrol of the arctic?’

‘Because it’s cold in the garden, silly!’ Sorcha replies, giggling as she feeds her small hand into his. ‘And now you’re going to freeze.’

‘What? You mean your dad hasn’t opened the barbecue lid and brought summer alive?’

‘You know that’s not the way it happens.’ She giggles, pulling on his arm. ‘My dad’s not magic.’

‘Not like me, you mean.’ With that, he pulls a bright shiny coin out from behind her ear.

‘A two-pound coin! How did you get that out of my ear?!’ she exclaims, clearly delighted.

My God. If as if being annoyingly attractive wasn’t enough, it suddenly hits me that Flynn is also good with kids. Fuck. Why does he have to be good with kids? I love kids . . . even if they don’t seem to like me very much. He’ll be one of those hot, fun dads someday. A total DILF. I shut the thought down immediately, taking a sip from my glass and ignoring the sudden stinging of my eyes.

‘He must be trying to impress someone. Doubling the stakes, huh, Flynn?’ Paisley shoots me a sly wink as she enters the room, thank the Lord. She pulls open the door to a commercial-size fridge, hiding her smile in the depths of it. ‘Watch out for bankruptcy.’

‘You may laugh,’ he replies, patting the little girl’s head. ‘But Sorcha here is building herself a nice little nest egg.’

‘What?’ Paisley’s response comes out as a tinkling laugh. ‘She hasn’t told you she spends it on candy?’

‘Sorch,’ he says, drawing her name out even as he shortens it. ‘Sorcha, Sorch, So.’ He shakes his head disparagingly. ‘How are you going to pay for all the things a dog needs?’

‘I’ve decided I don’t want a dog,’ she replies quite seriously. ‘Princess Kitty wouldn’t like it. Besides,’ she adds, pulling her hand from his, ‘I like sweeties.’ And as though to prove the existence of her sweet tooth, she skips off to follow Paisley and what looked like a large chocolate cake.

‘What are you smiling at?’ Flynn asks once we’re alone again.

‘I was just enjoying the cuteness factor. You’ve got hidden depths.’ I take a sip of my drink to hide my surprise at my compliment. We don’t compliment each other. We snipe and argue. Apart from that one time we fucked.

‘Seeing another side to me, were you?’

I am. And I don’t want to.

‘I’ll admit, I’m a little jealous,’ I say, my tone turning snarky once again. ‘You never performed magic for me.’

‘Huh.’ He steps closer—so close I can smell his aftershave. It’s spicy and woodsy and all kinds of yum. He smells like holidays and the best kinds of memories. Or maybe he would if I closed my eyes. But even looking at him reminds me of all kinds of things. Like how we’d snuck away from the wedding party. How we’d stumbled into my hotel room. How we hadn’t even stripped out of our clothes the first time he sank into me. How his eyes had rolled closed as I’d clenched around him and moaned.

‘I disagree.’ I shiver as his deep voice rumbles across my skin. ‘Because I seem to recall making your knickers disappear.’