A Touch of Summer

To Gabriell, Jack C, Stella, Alt Bronte and all our FL buddies too numerous to mention.

You inspired us

ONE

Flynn shifted in his chair and watched helplessly as her hands slid down her golden thigh, stroking the oil into her skin. Such smooth skin. She poured a little more of the golden liquid into the palm of her hand and rubbed it onto her other leg. Up and down on her long thighs. Her skin gleamed in the dim light as the oil coated it. God, he wanted to lick it off her.

Her hands moved upwards, smoothing oil into her stomach. Round and round went those tantalizing fingers, sweeping up from her belly-button to the edge of her breasts. He wanted those delicate fingers on him. Rubbing oil into his skin. Wrapped around his cock. Moving up and down, moving—

'Something the matter, Flynn?' Summer asked innocently.

That was an act. Summer O’Sullivan hadn’t been innocent since the day she was born. She was a siren from the top of her tousled chocolate brown hair to the tips of her painted toenails. His attempt to make her less attractive by packing only casual clothes and no make-up had backfired badly.

She wasn’t a society princess now; she was an approachable girl next door. If the girl next door was temptation wrapped up in sweetly scented package.

'Flynn?' Summer said.

Damn, he had to scramble to remember what she had asked him. 'No, nothing’s the matter,' he said.

She handed him the bottle. 'Then could you do my back?'

She unknotted the t-shirt from under her breasts and pulled it off over her head. She presented her back to him. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

He gripped the bottle, trying to keep hold of his sanity. The rounded edges dug into his hand. He looked down at it. 'Olive oil? You’re rubbing yourself with olive oil?'

Summer tossed her hair, looking over her shoulder at him. 'You didn’t pack any body moisturizer for me. This is the closest thing I can find.' Her back was bare, a lure to his hands.

Client. She’s the client, Flynn reminded himself. He had to keep his hands off her, or he would be off the job. He noticed that his hands were trembling.

He shoved the bottle back into her hand. 'Do your own back.' There was a limit to what even a hardened former Irish Ranger could tolerate. He couldn’t take much more of this.

He headed out of the tiny croft that he was sharing with Summer. As accommodation went, it was basic. OK, it was primitive. Very primitive. It was his great-grandmother’s family croft, and it needed a ton of work to be considered basic. But as a safe house, it was second to none. No one would get close enough to endanger his client here.

He just hadn’t factored in how difficult it would be to share this space with Summer and keep his hands to himself.

It was raining outside, as close to a cold shower as the Scottish Highlands got, and he welcomed it.

His sat-phone was in the jeep. Still keeping an eye on the croft to make sure Summer hadn’t followed him out, he dialled his boss’s number. 'Niall, this is not working. I’m going stir crazy here.'

Niall Moore laughed. 'You picked it.'

Flynn cursed, not bothering to censor his language. Niall had been a Ranger too, he had heard worse. 'I’m serious, we’re both about to go out of our minds here.'

'Yeah well, forgive me if I’m not full of sympathy for you. I’m up on the Isle of Brona for the Special Forces war-games. The SAS are hosting this year, and even using retired guys I’m down a man. So far, it’s me, McTavish and Reilly. I need a fourth in a hurry. Any suggestions?'

'Me. I can be your fourth man.'

It was the answer to his prayers. He knew of Brona. It was deserted, isolated, and perfect for war games. And perfect for keeping Summer safe while allowing him to get his self-control back. With Niall, McTavish and Reilly there, she would be safe from everything except a nuclear attack.

Seconds ticked by while Niall considered it. Finally he said, 'I suppose you could. OK, get your ass up to Brona.'

Yes! Flynn punched the air. Now he had to tell Summer.

There was no doubt about it, Flynn was hot. That slow purposeful stride as he walked outside sent a tingle down her spine. A week. A whole week locked up in a remote Scottish cabin with him and already he was driving her crazy. She had watched him chop enough wood to last several winters while trying to ignore the slick of sweat on his arms and abs. Flynn had remained his usual cool, professional, annoying self.

Although they were forced to share the only bed in the tiny cabin – it was either that or the floor – Flynn hadn’t touched her, saying that he never mixed business with pleasure. It was a little too late for that sentiment. Sumer nibbled her lower lip as she remembered the night he had broken that rule. OK, it had been stupid to think she could evade a professional bodyguard for the night – especially one like Flynn.

Later, she had paid for it when he had punished her. Flynn had taken charge of her – mind, body and soul. It had the most incredible sexual experience of her life. She had finally found a man who could fulfil all her fantasies, but he might as well be a thousand miles away. Stubborn bloody Scot. Why couldn’t he have been like the rest of her former bodyguards? Once she had found their weaknesses, they had been easy to get rid of. But not this one. For the next three weeks they were stuck together.

Summer wiped her hands and tightened the cap on the bottle. Olive oil would have to do until she got back to civilization. She moved to the window. In spite of the rain, it was beautiful here. The tiny croft was surrounded by mountains and acres of dark green forest that swept down to the crystal-clear waters of the loch. It would have been a perfect place for a honeymoon.

'Don’t think about that,' she warned herself, giggling, when she realized that she had spoken the words aloud in the empty room. There would be no more falling in love for her, especially not with men who only wanted her for her money.

'Summer.' Flynn’s voice carried into the croft. 'Pack your things; we’re going on a trip.'

'We’re getting out of here? Count me in.' She replaced the bottle on the rough wooden shelf which constituted the croft’s larder. What was the Scot planning now? It didn’t matter. They were getting out of here for a while. She hurried up to the loft to pack before he changed his mind.

By the time she stuffed her meagre wardrobe into her rucksack and climbed down the ladder, Flynn was already packing the jeep. He took her battered rucksack from her and placed it beside his dark leather holdall.

'Would you like to tell me where we’re going?' she said.

His hazel eyes twinkled and he failed to conceal his grin. What was he so happy about? 'Why?' he asked. 'Did you have other plans for the weekend?'

Summer looked around her at the remote valley. They were miles from civilization. 'Why, yes. I thought I might buy some shoes. After that I could have a manicure and maybe meet the girls for cocktails.'

'Oh, in that case …' Flynn said. He reached for their bags, prepared to unpack the jeep. 'I thought you’d be happy to get out of here for a few days. But if you’d rather not …'

'No,' she protested. 'Let’s get going.'

Anywhere would be an improvement on this. They were living in one room with an open fire their only source of heat. The croft had no electricity and the only ‘bathroom’ was a tin hut at the end of the garden path. She could barely wash in the miserable amount of warm water that the solar powered shower produced and had taken to swimming in the icy loch to keep clean.

Flynn returned to the croft to fetch the rest of the things. 'We’re going to take a trip up north,' he called over his shoulder.

The man was infuriating. Summer followed him into the cabin, noting that he had already put out the fire and that the tiny kitchen area was spotlessly clean. There were no food scraps left to tempt the mice. 'We’re in the highlands of Scotland. Just how much further north can we go?'

Flynn ignored her question. He scanned the croft, checking for any last minute items he might require. 'If you need the toilet, you better go now. We have a bit of a drive ahead of us.'

Muttering under her breath, Summer hurried up the garden path. In the tiny bathroom mirror she checked her reflection. Gone was the sleek London socialite. Her hair was curly and – oh sweet god— were they freckles across her nose? This was all Flynn’s fault.

Back at the jeep, Flynn was waiting. The car radio was playing Melody Gardot. It was the first music she had heard since she’d arrived in this godforsaken place. Flynn started the engine as soon as she had climbed in and she relaxed. 'So, where are we going?'

He put the jeep in gear and they began the slow climb out of the glen. 'Brona,' he said, keeping his eyes focused on the narrow road. 'It’s an island off the Caithness coast.'

An island? That sounded promising. She cast a sideways glance at him. Summer stretched out her legs. The oil had left a nice sheen on her skin. Pity he hadn’t done her back. Still, he might come round once they reached the hotel.

'Sounds romantic. What’s on it? A spa?' Summer looked ruefully at her hands. The pink nail polish was chipped beyond repair and she had nothing to remove it. They had left London in such a hurry. That was the last time she’d ever let a man do her packing. He’d brought practically no make-up and all the clothes he’d packed were old.

A snort of laughter was his only response. 'Brona is about as romantic as a badger’s set. The island is deserted. The military use it for war games.'

'War games,' she repeated his words like an idiot. The Scot was seriously planning to drag her to some G.I. Joe outing for the weekend.

'Aye,' he continued. 'One weekend a year the lads get together for a bit of fun.'

'What lads?'

'The SAS, the SEALs, a few of the boys from the Wing, the 2e REP and the Aussie SAS.'

“I’ve heard of most of them but who are the 2e REP and the Wing?”

Flynn gave her a sideways glance, as if he was talking to a particularly silly child. “The 2e REP are the French elite Special Forces and the Wing are the Irish Rangers. We’re the smallest and the best.”

Oh Yum. A lot of hot soldiers with spectacular bodies could be a very interesting weekend. Maybe if she had a standard of comparison, Flynn would look ordinary and she wouldn’t obsess about him so much. And at the least, she could have fun pissing him off.

Flynn cast a speculative look at her bare legs. 'A word of warning. I expect you to be on your best behaviour when we get there. No whinging about the accommodation and no flirting. Otherwise there will be consequences.'

'Yes, sir.' She gave him a mock salute.