Kat Black - Playing With Fire

Annabel had been surprised the first time Aidan had brought her here. Working out that her own ‘executive’ flat could fit into the space five times over, she’d wondered how someone on a barman’s salary could afford such slick city living. Given his relationship to Richard Landon, her boss and the owner of Cluny’s, she’d guessed at family money. But that had been before she’d learned how successful a career Aidan had had in the financial sector before the credit crisis had hit and he’d lost his job. And very nearly a whole lot more besides.

As soon as his hands were free, Aidan reached for her. ‘At last,’ he said through a wide smile, ‘I can kiss you hello properly.’

He thought she was going to let him off that easily? She sidestepped around him. ‘That was a low trick you pulled with my mother.’

‘What trick would that be?’

She wasn’t fooled for a minute by the look of bafflement that replaced the smile. ‘You know very well. Cornering me with that therapy nonsense.’

‘Did I corner you?’ Aidan frowned.

‘Yes, you can stop with the innocent act. You know I had no intention of following it up.’

The smile reappeared and a spark of mischief flashed in his gaze. ‘And you of all people should know I play dirty when I have to, Annabel,’ he admitted without a trace of shame.

Oh, yes. She knew that about him. She also knew he was quite a contradiction. At times capable of being one of the most unscrupulous yet highly honourable men she’d ever come across. That was his charm – a dangerous charisma that she’d been wary of right from the start. And with good reason. She’d watched charmers in action all her life. Watched them trick her mother. Smiling to her face while stealing whatever they could from behind her back. Her money, her love, her dignity. Annabel had promised never to make the same mistakes; she’d sworn never to trust anyone, never to let anyone close enough to hurt her the way she’d watched her mother get hurt.

And yet, here she was, risking getting way too close to the biggest charmer of all. Never mind playing dirty – she was playing with fire.

Aidan’s expression sobered. ‘In all seriousness, I believe it’s something you should do,’ he said. ‘I know better than most the importance of healing properly after a trauma. Without all the rehab I had after the stroke – and I’m talking a veritable army of therapists – I doubt I’d be half the man I am, annoying the hell out of you tonight.’

Having quizzed him over their recent brunch about the stroke and his recovery, she knew that ‘army’ was barely an exaggeration. Aidan had been left as helpless as a newborn baby, essentially having to learn to talk and walk all over again.

‘I’m not saying it was easy or enjoyable, but it was necessary.’ Pausing, Aidan sighed softly. ‘Now we can go ahead and start an argument about my underhand tactics if that’s what you want, a mhuirnín ,’ he said. ‘But we’re both tired and I’ve missed you. I’d much prefer to take you in my arms and take you to bed.’

And that was another concern. Annabel glanced towards his bedroom door with a mixture of longing and apprehension. Getting comfortable sounded delicious, but she didn’t want to make a nightmare-induced spectacle of herself in front of him again.

As usual, Aidan seemed able to read her thoughts perfectly. He stepped close and wrapped his arms around her. ‘You’ve nothing to worry about, I’ve been devising a clever plan to keep the dreams at bay tonight.’

Annabel looked up at him. ‘Oh, yes? What plan would that be?’

‘One that starts with a kiss,’ he murmured, and followed up with a soft, warm practical demonstration. Pulling back, he looked into her eyes. ‘Before moving on to stripping you naked and laying you out across my sheets.’

The heated promise in his gaze held her trapped, unable to blink. ‘And then?’

‘“And then” involves me thinking up new and creative ways to keep you distracted from your own thoughts for a very, very long time.’ He lowered his head again and this time let his lips linger against hers. ‘So long that by the time I’m finished with you, you’ll be passed out cold.’

He kissed her a third time, the press firmer. His tongue playing along the seam of her lips in a velvety caress that had her opening to him. The arms holding her tightened, pulling her flush up against his body as he deepened the kiss, claiming her mouth with yearning hunger.

And Annabel was lost. She couldn’t fight the desire he roused in her, even if she wanted to. She raised her hands and sank them into the cool, silky strands of his hair. Worn slightly too long and slightly too tousled, the style hid the fine six-inch line of scar tissue that curved down over his scalp a little behind his ear. Her fingers found it now, that permanent mark of the lifesaving operation he’d had following the stroke she’d learned he’d suffered only a few years back.

With his body pressed against hers, so warm, so vital, so straight and strong, it was hard to imagine that he’d been so ill, paralysed and helpless, his muscles wasting as he lay confined to a bed. The only physical evidence that remained of such a traumatic event was the scar and the slightly lopsided smile that had never righted itself.

That he was here today as he was proved that Aidan Flynn was a fighter. A self-professed dirty one at times, but nevertheless a fighter who was offering to help battle her nightmares with her.

With all that on offer, quite frankly, the argument could wait until morning.

‘Take me to bed, then,’ she murmured against his lips.

He did. And it wasn’t until a long, long time later that they found out whether his plan worked.

Annabel managed a solid four hours of exhausted sleep before the terror of another nightmare woke them both.

Good luck.

Annabel read the text message that came through from Aidan. Even though he was busy in Ireland he apparently could still find time to remember, almost to the very minute, her appointment today.

His thoughtfulness made something warm and cosy unfurl within her chest; a sensation that felt much scarier than it sounded, especially as it seemed to be happening more and more often, and there was no way for her to control or protect herself from it.

Thanks , she sent in reply before switching the phone to silent and sliding it back into the bag sitting on her lap. Clasping her hands together atop the leather, she aimed her gaze at the framed print of a generic pastel landscape on the wall opposite. This wasn’t the time or place to let thoughts of Aidan Flynn unsettle her nerves.

Because, much to her own surprise, this was the second time in as many weeks she’d found herself waiting in the carefully decorated blandness of her local Victim Support offices. Following the sneaky ambush Aidan had sprung on the night he’d come to pick her up from her flat, she’d known that neither he nor her mother would give up on the subject of getting the help they thought she needed for her nightmares. She’d figured the easiest way to get them off her back, or to stop them going behind it and setting up something themselves, was to agree to make an appointment.

By taking the initiative, at least she got to stay in charge and make the choices that seemed right for herself. And, after weighing up various options, she’d decided that the Victim Support service sounded most suited to her needs, not least because the terminology they used sounded so normal. There was no counselling this, or therapist that, no sessions, nothing to imply that she was in any way mentally weak or unstable. There were just nice, straightforward-sounding visits with volunteers.