Chapter 33

FLYNN

Part of me wishes I could walk away. It would make life easier, for sure, but I’d be poorer for the experience. I know this—feel this—on so many levels. I know it intellectually; Chastity is a good person whose experiences led her to believe she couldn’t trust her own judgement. I know it viscerally; just being around her is enough for me to learn how her mind works. She believes in people. And she’s a good person with a generous heart. The place she falls short is trusting her own judgement. And that I know in my heart. We may not have known each other for very long but a litany of small incidences tells me all I need to know. The text check ins with friends, the way she holds an infant. The love and concern she has for her family, both blood and chosen, the way she cares for her own staff. In an industry dominated by men and rife with exploitation, she stands strong. She’s an advocate of the industry in her own right, standing up for the rights of people—to watch porn and be watched, ethically. Then there are the smaller things that endear her to me. Her love of romantic comedies and her abhorrence for anything glorifying horror or death. The way she smiles at me with a dozen variations, my favourite of which is when she’s not buying my bullshit and not calling me out on it, either. A smile that’s cute and exasperated and elevates my joy to ridiculous rates. The way she hums to herself as she works in her home office and the way her body seeks mine in her sleep.

The way she looked at me when I told her I loved her, and the delight in her voice as she’d said it back to me.

The woman has a hard shell and a tender centre, and I can’t help but want it all.

Besides, how could I miss out on a woman whose name includes my favourite part of her anatomy? Chas-tity. Well, almost.

Keir stands at the restaurant doorway, presumably where the food fucker slunk off to. He’s lucky to still have his own teeth after I saw the look on Chastity’s face. I’ve seen her smile a dozen ways, and loved them all, and I’ve watched her face wear a thousand expressions, yet until a few moments ago, I’d never seen her fearful.

‘Do you want me to sort Chas’s car?’ Keir asks, tipping his chin. ‘She’ll get clamped, or worse, left there.’

I nod, though Chastity’s car is the least of my concerns and I act on instinct rather than intellect as I swing on the toes of my oxfords and storm my way back to her. She looks worried, which is near enough to frightened, but I can’t think about that. Not as I take her head in my hands, my gaze fiercely demanding of hers.

I just stare at her because I know if I open my mouth, the words won’t make sense. So instead, I tilt my head and slant my mouth over hers.

She squeaks as I kiss her, kiss her hard, kiss her as though I could press my frustration into her. Or maybe some sense. This woman is going to be both the bane and the joy of my entire life, I can tell. The agony and the ecstasy. The person who drives me crazy, as well as driving me to be a better man. But so long as she wants and needs me like she does right now—her hands hooked under my suit jacket, one fisting my shirt at my back—I reckon I’m okay with that.

As I pull back, her eyes are a little hazy, her fingers finding her lips as though to contain the power of our kiss.

‘Do you trust me?’

‘I do, and I’m sorry,’ she begins, hazy turning to threatening tears. ‘I was wrong, but try to see it from my position—’

I shake my head because that’s not what I meant at all. I have thought. I have tried to see it from her side—the evidence and the weight of her experience balanced against a man she thinks she barely knows. But I’ve been honest with her. Mostly. What you see is what you get. Mostly there, too.

I take her hand in both of mine, looping the ring holding her keys around my fingers only to deposit them in Paisley’s hand, all without letting go of her hand. It looks so small and slender in mine, her fingers widening as I draw one of my own the length of her palm.

‘What are you doing. Why are you giving her my keys?’

When she called from the office, Paisley was in a bit of a state—all broken sentences and emotion as she’d dashed out to her own car to follow. Because Chastity, on learning the truth behind the video, had shot out of the carpark in her little car like a bat escaping hell.

‘Because you’re coming home with me. It’s time to let someone else look after you.’

Her gaze softens and she exhales a soft breath, the tension dropping out of her. For at least a beat, before her eyes widen then flit to the bike parked in front of her car, the wrong way in the road.

‘On the donor cycle?’ she sort of yelps. ‘No. No way. People die on those things!’

‘Do you trust me,’ I repeat, not just talking about our mode of transport. And though I can tell she has a million things to say, provisos and addendums and fuck knows what else, she bites her bottom lip to stem the flow and nods her head.

‘I do trust you. I trust you not to break me. But I’m not sure,’ she says, her gaze sliding fearfully to the bike again, ‘I trust whizzing through the streets on a hunk of metal with wheels not breaking me.’

‘Just think of all that power between your legs.’

Her next look my way borders on contemptuous. ‘Really? At a time like this, you want to talk about sex?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ I reply with a sly half smile. ‘So why don’t you just get your arse on the bike and we can go do something about it.’

~*~

As I help her pull the helmet from her head, I don’t know if it’s the ride, her brush with Tate, or the subterranean parking garage that has her eyes the size of dinner plates.

‘Where are we?’ she asks as I feed my fingers through hers to pull her to the lift.

‘Home.’ I bite back my grin. ‘Tell the truth, you thought I lived in some grotty flat share in Islington, didn’t you?’

‘I’m well aware of my privileges,’ she answers snippily. ‘There aren’t many under thirties living in London who don’t have housemates.’

‘Keep your undies on.’ I slide my gaze over my shoulder and shoot her a saucy wink. ‘At least until we get upstairs.’

The elevator comes to a stop. It’s not the penthouse, but a thirteenth-floor apartment overlooking the river Thames. Mutli-million dollar real-estate, the kind most personal assistants only get to dream about. As I slip off my jacket and drop my keys on the table in the hall, I can tell that’s where her mind has gone.

‘Do you rent?’ As the words hit the air, her expression turns a sort of wide-eyed horrified. ‘Ignore that.’

‘I think it’s time I clued you in on a few things,’ I say, placing my hands on her shoulders from behind. I push the old Parker she’d had in the boot of her car from her shoulders, dropping it next to mine. I’m pleased she had something to wear as bike rides are wicked cold in spring. ‘I work for Keir,’ I begin, lowering my mouth close to her ear. ‘Mainly because it saves me from being one of those rich arseholes who don’t work. I also work for Keir because I’ve been learning how the property development market works.’ Slotting away the insights to his killer instincts. ‘But none of that alters the fact that I am one of those rich arseholes.’

Her stay resolutely on the bank of windows and the terrace beyond, filled with greenery. The apartment is pretty stark; white floors and upholstery, the only real colour from a massive parlour palm and my huge TV on one wall. The space is light and bright, and I suppose in some ways, I’ve subconsciously brought a little bit of home here with me. Sadly, I can’t say the same for the sunshine.

‘And you didn’t think to mention any of that to me?’ Her tone is even, her voice clear.

‘Not until this week.’ Not until I offered Keir a cash injection and a partnership.

‘I don’t think I understand.’ And why would she? I’m the only one of my brothers that hasn’t really done much for themselves. Granted, we all went through that mad playboy stage coming into our inheritance after uni, but the Phillips clan are over-achievers, professionally. Apart from me.

‘You’re asking why not work for myself from the start?’

‘Maybe. Yes?’ she says, turning her confused gaze to me.

‘That’s easy.’ I step around her and take her hand in mine, leading her to the sectional sofa. ‘Because some of us don’t have the drive that you do. Or are half as brave.’

‘That’s . . .’ Baffling to her still, I can tell. ‘But why not mention it?’

‘Dunno. I suppose I don’t tell anyone. It’s not impressive or earned. It’s a family thing.’ My grandfather owned a small hardware store, passed down from his father. Don’t ask me how, but he designed and patented a multi-function tool table that took off like a rocket. Aussie blokes like their sheds and their tools almost as much as they like their beer. ‘Speaking of family, when I called them this week and told them about my plans, I also told them about you. You know, before you gave me the flick.’

‘Before I gave you what?’

‘My marching orders—the boot.’ She looks horrified, whether because of my phrasing or the thoughts that I have a family, I’m not sure. But they’re not bad, really. ‘Mum seems to think you’re some sort of miracle worker. Her and dad are going apeshit to meet you.’

‘Meet me?’ she repeats.

‘Anyone who’s had . . . how’d mum put it? Such a positive effect on me must be a very special person.’

‘But I didn’t do anything,’ she says, totally bemused.

‘You’re helping me live up to my potential. Or some such shit. Making me grow the fuck up, according to one of my arsehole brothers.’

‘But I like you the way you are.’ I feel like she has my heart in her hands for the purpose of giving it a good hug. ‘I don’t want you to change.’

‘You might feel a bit differently when we have kids.’

‘Flynn.’ She places her hand flat on my chest, her soft brown gaze turning solemn. ‘I’m not pregnant.’

‘Maybe not yet. We’ve got plenty of time to change that though, hey?’

‘You really want to do this? With me?’

‘Well, I’m not here to fuck spiders, love.’

When she laughs, it’s the very best of things. ‘Am I even supposed to know what that means?’

‘You know, the sooner you stop talking, the sooner I can show you my big bed.’

‘Your family—I won’t hide what I do.’

‘Who’s expecting you to? In fact, if you get any new subscribers with Aussie ISPs, feel free to block them. It’ll be my brothers. They’ve already decided you’re a dead-set legend. Just be grateful we live half a world away.’

‘You told them?’

‘Yeah. I’m in love with you; of course I did.’

‘You are the most perplexing—’ She shakes her head, her hand falling away. ‘I really don’t understand.’

‘I reckon we’ll work that into our wedding vows. Neither of us understands, but yet we know.’ She inhales sharply her mouth falling open, her expression filling my head with images that have no business there. Yet. ‘That wasn’t a proposal by the way. When I propose, you’ll know.’

‘Do you think we’re moving too fast?’

‘Maybe. But it works for me. Don’t overthink it,’ I say, taking her into my arms. I feel like a duck; calm on the surface, but under the water line, I’m manic. Or at least my heart is. ‘I can see right now the conversation you’re having with yourself,’ I say tapping her forehead. ‘Analysing. Criticizing. Second guessing, babe. I dare you to act on instinct, Chastity. I dare you to take a chance.’

Her tongue darts out to wet her pink lips. ‘You want me to take a chance on you?’

‘Not me, duchess. Us. What do you say?’

Her mouth is just a whisper away as she slides her hands around to the nape of my neck. ‘These brothers of yours . . . are they as handsome as you?’

‘Nah, they look like a hat full of arseholes.’ She laughs softly, the swell of her chest brushing mine.

‘I might pass, then,’ she says, screwing up her cute nose.

‘We’re going to make such beautiful babies, you know.’

‘Then I think we’d better make a start on that.’

She squeals a little as I lunge for her like a man possessed, pressing her back against the sofa as I begin covering her in kisses.