Christmas at His Command

‘Are you trying to say you didn’t ask him here or invite him to kiss you?’ Flynn asked evenly.

‘Yes.’ Which was stupid really because in view of the way she felt it would have been the easy option to let Flynn assume there was something between her and Dean, and thereby finish this ‘friendship’. Flynn was not a man who understood the concept of sharing!

‘Good.’ He walked up to her, oblivious to the taxi driver, who was watching developments with interest. ‘I’m pleased.’

‘You believe me?’ she asked weakly, astonished.

‘Of course I believe you.’ He smiled, a wry twist of his stern mouth. ‘Didn’t you expect me to?’

‘I…’ Her voice trailed away. She didn’t know what she’d expected. ‘I—’

‘OK, I can draw my own conclusions.’ He kissed her swiftly, lifting her chin with warm, firm fingers before adding, his voice very dry, ‘I can see there is still some progress to be made.’

‘What?’

But he was walking towards the taxi driver, bending down as he asked the fare and paying the man with what was obviously a handsome tip from the way Marigold heard the other man thank Flynn.

She watched him, her feelings so turbulent she hardly knew herself. She cared about this man and he was going to break her heart if she didn’t finish this affair now, tonight. He had invaded her life with deadly intent, and even now she asked herself, why? He could have any woman he wanted—apart from the one who held his heart, Celine—so why bother with her? Was it because she’d made it plain she wanted nothing to do

with him in the beginning, or just the way they had struck sparks off each other, mentally as well as physically? Right from the first time she had seen him it had been a love–hate relationship.

Her thought process hiccuped and died, leaving her in a state of suspended animation as she stared at the big figure in front of her. And then, as reason returned in a hot flood, she told herself, You don’t! You do not love Flynn Moreau.

But it was too late. The truth she had been subconsciously denying for weeks was out in the open. Marigold wasn’t aware of the blank despair which had turned her eyes navy blue, she only knew she mustn’t betray herself by word or gesture.

‘He’s upset you.’ Flynn was in front of her again, his handsome face unsmiling as he took in her drawn countenance. ‘What’s he been saying?’

‘Who? What?’ Marigold made an enormous effort and pulled herself together. ‘No, it’s fine, really. He…he just told me he and Tamara have broken up. He wanted…’

‘I think I know what he wanted,’ Flynn said drily. ‘And you told him to go paddle his own canoe, right?’

‘My phraseology was a little different, but basically, yes.’

‘You won’t regret it.’

No, she wouldn’t. Not with Dean. ‘Flynn…’ It was too soft, too trembling and feminine. She had to appear more in control. Marigold took a deep breath and her voice was firmer when she said, ‘Flynn, we have to talk. About us, I mean.’

‘There’s an us?’ One eyebrow quirked and his mouth lifted at the corners in a sexy smile. ‘And I didn’t know!’

‘Please, Flynn.’

Something in her voice stilled the smile. His head tilted, eyes surveying her searchingly before he said, ‘Inside. It’s too cold and windy out here to deal with life and death issues.’

Once in the flat Flynn deposited the shopping he’d insisted on carrying in on the kitchen worktop, before walking through to the sitting room, where Marigold had just lit the fire.

‘So.’ He had on his big charcoal overcoat, undone, over an expensive grey suit and cream shirt, and looked every inch the powerful, dynamic and brilliant surgeon. He folded his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall just inside the door as he surveyed her unblinkingly. ‘Let’s have it.’

Please let me get through this without bursting into tears or disgracing myself in any other way, Marigold prayed desperately. I can’t be with him on his terms, and any other way is out of the question. ‘I think we ought to have a break from seeing each other,’ she said stiffly, rising from where she’d been kneeling in front of the fire and seating herself on the sofa.

‘Why?’

‘Why?’ Well, of course he would ask that, she told herself crossly as she heard her voice echo his. She just didn’t have a reasonable answer, that was the thing. ‘Because I’m not ready for a relationship so soon after my engagement finishing,’ she attempted quickly.

‘Don’t buy it,’ he said coolly. ‘What’s the real reason?’

She didn’t answer immediately and his eyes narrowed. ‘The truth, Marigold, and I shall know if you’re lying,’ he said softly.

‘I…I’m not like your other women.’