Chapter 3

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M irren walked to the last rick on wobbly legs, thinking how she'd never begrudged farmer O'Neal's appearance this much before.

There was something different about Flynn, certainly. One moment she felt herself in control, and the next, he'd taken that control in a sleight of hand that defied her previous romantic encounters, only to return it again. She enjoyed this back-and-forth with him, this give and take. He had demonstrated just enough transparency to satisfy her concerns. Their interactions gave her a feeling of power, balancing between desire and caution, both thrilling and necessary.

A tingle ran through her body and left heat in its wake, reviving the unspent ache that lingered there.

She wanted him to want her , not just her body or what she could offer him. It's a silly thing to want when he will probably leave the moment he gets bored. Yet despite this, she wanted to know if she could be special to him. Her world was full of ordinary people and the overwhelming forces of the sea. She wanted to be more than merely an expected, routine acquisition picked up in the course of one's predictable life.

But it would probably never happen. And, used to steeling herself against the transient nature of life, Mirren turned her mind to more practical matters. There was the day's work to finish. Her pulsing body reminded her on no uncertain terms that it was almost over. If Flynn was still willing, they could at least have each other for one breathless, secret night.

For the rest of the day, she taught him how to replace thatch in the kelp ricks. The sun set early, as it did that time of year, and the wind kicked up and the surf battered the shore. The sky roiled with heavy grey clouds. The wind tugged at their hair and clothes. The rain began to fall, leaving dark spots on his shirt. Mirren gave the thatch one last inspection: it would hold. "Come on, let's go inside," she shouted over the storm.

They were thoroughly drenched by the time they reached the bothy and slammed the door against the downpour. Mirren's hair had fallen out of her braid and hung dripping down her back. She put more peat on the fire and watched it as it grew, aware of Flynn standing awkwardly in the corner. She hid a smile. He seemed unsure of himself, while outside by the ricks, he had known exactly what to do. Or perhaps he was waiting for her. She had sensed his hesitation the first time she'd brought him inside, though she'd also noted his gaze lingering on her bed. Her face flushed with more than the heat from the hearth.

She cleared her throat. "Come stand by the fire. You won't dry in the corner like that."

He did as commanded, which brought him closer to her and did nothing to settle her state of mind. Wet clothes clung to his spare, lean muscles. Outside, the rain fell in torrents. "You'll have to stay here," Mirren continued, biting her lip and staring into the fire. "There's no point in going to the inn in this weather."

"Mirren, you're bleeding." Flynn knelt down and touched the top of her foot, gently. Red welled from the big toe of her foot, mingling with the rapidly forming puddle. She vaguely remembered stepping on something sharp as they ran, but she was used to going barefoot, and had been focused on getting out of the rain. Now the pain rose to the forefront of her mind.

Before she could protest, Flynn pulled up one of the wooden chairs. When she remained standing, he put his hands on her hips and gently pushed her down into the chair. He crouched down and took her foot by the ankle, eliciting a shiver from her. His lashes fanned dark against his cheeks. His shoulders moved with controlled strength as he gently turned her foot from side to side. A flash of an image, of Flynn shirtless and moving over her like that, burned into her brain. But the moment he touched her again, pain shot through her foot. She sucked in a breath against a wave of dizziness as he examined the wound.

Fainting is not a good idea, she told herself. If I faint I can't appreciate watching him. She bit her lip hard against the lightheadedness that washed over her.

"It's deep." Flynn gestured to a piece of shell protruding from the cut, a pale point washed in blood. Glancing up, his expression softened. "This will hurt," he warned gently.

Mirren choked on an oath as he removed the shell. It was bigger than it had appeared and drew fresh blood from the gash. "Done," he said. "It needs wrapping."

"The trunk." Mirren clutched the chair as he followed her bidding, kneeling to wrap strips of old cloth around her foot.

"Wait. There's a bottle of tincture in the cupboard over there," she said, nodding at it. A few drops of the sharp-smelling remedy made her hiss. It burned like fire, but it would keep infection at bay.

"Hm." Flynn studied her face as he bandaged her foot. "You look grey as death."

"How flattering you are."

The final knot secured, he flashed a grin at her that dimpled his cheek. "You don't seem like someone easily unsettled by the sight of blood."

"You suggest I am insensitive?" Mirren was quite proud of the dry humor in her voice. "Too insensitive for a woman, maybe. But this is no life for softness."

"On the contrary." Flynn slid his hand from her foot to her ankle and stroked two fingers up her calf, igniting a spark that travelled all the way up her leg. "I believe you have the right kinds of softness. And a man who values your sensitivities might be worthy of you."

It was hard to breathe. This is ridiculous. Here she was blushing like an untried girl, and he knew exactly what he was doing to her. Despite her efforts to look calm, her eyelids fluttered along with the heartbeat that pulsed throughout her body. "And you," she breathed, "you believe you are worthy of me?"

"I would like to be the man who proves that you are worthy of whatever you wish."

She scoffed, but a smile played about her lips. She no longer cared to prolong this tug-of-war. She wanted it translated, spoken in the language of skin and touch.

His hand slid down to the bandage. "Will this do?" He asked, tapping the fabric with one finger, rubbing circles into the arch of her foot.

She nodded. "Those are pretty words. Do you have any more of them?"

Flynn took her other foot in one hand and traced the same path around her ankle, making her breath quicken and her heartbeat throb. "I would prefer to show you instead."

She leaned forward and kissed him quickly, teasingly, pulling back to see a muscle in his jaw twitch and his eyes flare. Flynn answered as if any distance between them would kill him. His mouth was rough and quick on hers. His tongue curled inside her and stroked. Sparks shot through her body, again and again, stoked with each movement of his tongue. His hands were at her back, gripping her now at her waist, now twisting in her loose hair. Mirren gasped as he tugged her head back and pressed a kiss to her throat, his face and teeth rough on her skin.

"Too fast?" He whispered hoarsely. "Tell me to slow down."

"No. Keep going."

She tried to protest when he broke away, but his breath feathered hot on her breast as he nuzzled her through her dress, taking her once, twice in his teeth, teasing her just enough to intensify the pleasure of his touch before moving to the other. The ache between her legs clamored for attention.

Mirren stumbled upright and tugged him away from the hearth, pausing to tug the knife free of her skirt and cast it to the floor. He followed, his eyes wild, black pools of hunger as she sat on the bed. Standing between her legs, Flynn pressed her down with one hand on her stomach, his other hand sliding her skirt down to pool around her hips. With both hands, he removed her drawers.

She gasped at the sudden rush of cool air on her intimate skin.

He groaned, his hand pausing in its way down her inner thigh, and knelt to gaze at her. "Look at you. Stunning. I can't believe I get to touch you."

Her skin quivered at the touch of his fingers, a soft, lingering stroke not quite where she wanted it. "Flynn!"

"You have the prettiest voice, Mirren. You make me weak."

A moan, part frustration, part arousal, escaped her lips as he continued teasing her.

"I wanted you as soon as I saw you," she replied, and smiled when he groaned again, pressing his face into her thigh, his motions momentarily stilled. He might make her weak with pleasure, but this was power, and she intended to use it as long as she could speak. "I've been hungry for you all day. I imagined stripping your clothes off and touching all of you. I–Flynn!"

He had touched her exactly where she wanted him. Gently at first, then with urgency, silencing her thoughts, his fingers sent all powers of speech packing with promises to return in the distant future. Pleasure swelled, tightening within her again. He tugged her closer.

"That sounds good, you taking my clothes off." His breath feathered against her neck as he leaned over her, his fingers continuing their languid exploration, the warmth of his body flush against hers. "Maybe I'll let you do that next time."

She writhed against his hand as he toyed with her. It was almost unbearable, these sensations he wrought in her. Suddenly the thread of tension snapped. Pleasure erupted with overwhelming force, making every nerve in her body sing with shaking, pulsing energy. Wave after wave pummeled her, prolonged by Flynn's touch, until she lay quivering beneath him, utterly spent and gasping for breath.

"That was so fast," she panted, deliriously sated.

"You aren't done yet." He kissed her neck softly, rubbed her arms, soothing her down from the climax. "Not if I have any say in the matter."