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FIVE DAYS LATER they were married in Prague.
Ava gripped Flynn’s hand tight, following the prompts in a civil ceremony that should have been unemotional with its speed and lack of family or friends. Instead its simplicity concentrated the power of the vows they made.
Ava’s heart rose as Flynn tenderly brushed his lips against hers. The kiss was butterfly-soft but there was no mistaking the fierce restraint he imposed to keep it so. His dark eyes glittered as he clasped her waist tight, his large hands splayed, his heat seeping into her. His shoulders were rigid as steel beneath his suave tailoring.
Soon, that look promised.
Heat arced between them and she trembled, heart full and her body at such a pitch of desire she wondered if it were possible to die of sexual frustration.
For five days Flynn had refused to do more than cuddle, or kiss her in some public place where there was no chance of giving in to the hunger spiralling between them.
Because he wanted their wedding night to be special, he’d declared.
If she hadn’t known better Ava might have suspected he’d used the sensual tension between them as a lever to persuade her to marry him quickly.
Her hands cupped his neck and she looked into eyes that glowed with triumph. She felt the same elation. She’d made the right decision. Despite the whirlwind speed of their romance, she knew Flynn was the only man in the world for her.
‘Come on, Mrs Marshall,’ he murmured with that crooked smile that made her heartbeat hitch. ‘It’s time for photos.’
‘Do we have to?’
Flynn laughed, the sound so infectious that Ava found herself smiling. He stroked his fingers down her cheek and her laughter faded. Just his touch turned her knees to jelly.
‘I want pictures to show the grandkids.’ His voice dropped, became husky. ‘You look so perfect I want a memento.’
‘No one’s ever called me perfect.’ Such extravagant praise was unsettling. ‘I’ll settle for pretty.’
In her tea length gown of palest gold silk covered with matching lace, she felt pretty. Not sophisticated, as her father had always insisted upon, but pretty and carefree. The wide circular skirt and cinched waist made her outfit fun in a retro style. The long, fitted lace sleeves with rows of miniscule buttons were deliciously feminine.
How Flynn had conjured it up, and the matching satin and lace shoes, in her exact size in mere days, she didn’t know. But, instead of facing an ordeal by bridal gown, Ava had taken one look inside the garment bag and found herself grinning.
He’d listened when she’d said no white. He’d remembered her weakness for lace and roses. Fragrant gold and cream roses made up the posy she carried and were also tucked in her loosely upswept hair.
‘Not just pretty,’ Flynn said as he tucked her arm in his, leading the way through the town hall. ‘Beautiful. Stunning. Perfect.’
Again that word. But Ava was too lost in wonder to cavil. For they’d entered a small high-vaulted room that took her breath away. Ceiling and walls were covered with glittering mosaics. Scenes adorned the walls and overhead were intricate heraldic designs. It was a jewel of a room.
‘Now, if the bride could sit near the window?’ A photographer gestured to a bench seat positioned against one decorated wall where sunlight slanted.
Ava paused. It wasn’t a photo of herself she wanted, but a memento of the pair of them.
‘Sit with me?’
Flynn nodded. ‘Soon. Let her get a photo of you first.’
One photo turned into scores, but Ava didn’t argue. Not when Flynn stood there, hands in pockets, surveying her as if he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. It was his expression, rather than the lace and flowers and the unfamiliar weight of her wedding band, that made her feel like a blushing bride. To be the utter focus of his attention, to feel his regard with every breath—it was something she’d never dared dream of.
‘Wonderful!’ The photographer moved closer, her camera clicking. ‘Just wonderful.’
Finally they emerged, arm in arm, into the cobblestoned square just as the astronomical clock on the tower chimed the hour. Tourists swung their cameras around from the clock to them as they stepped across gold and cream rose petals to an open horse-drawn carriage. Matched greys sported cream and gold feathers above their halters and garlands of pastel roses decked the carriage.
‘You’ve pulled out all the stops, Mr Marshall.’ Ava grinned up at Flynn. He’d turned their quiet wedding into pure romance, but he’d avoided the shallow society fuss she detested.
She covered his hand with hers. ‘Thank you. It’s all so gorgeous.’
‘I’m glad you approve, Mrs Marshall.’
It didn’t matter that he had the money to make all this happen. What mattered was that he’d listened to her and made the day special. Was it any wonder she’d fallen hard for this man who treasured her so?
Ava paused on the step up to the carriage. She leaned in, her lips grazing his ear. ‘I love you, Flynn. So much.’
He swung his head around, capturing her mouth. She swayed and he held her tight, then lifted his head, drawing back a fraction and helping her into the carriage.
‘You make me the happiest man in the world.’
Then he was beside her and they were moving, the old town a blur of quaint buildings and upturned faces.
Half an hour later he carried her over the threshold of a suite in a gracious hotel. Ava scanned the luxurious furnishings as Flynn kicked the door shut and strode across the room, still holding her.
She revelled in his display of macho strength. Once free of her father’s machinations, she’d fiercely guarded herself from take-charge men. From men, period, except for the odd casual date. But with Flynn the Me Tarzan, you Jane show of domination excited rather than repelled her. Who’d have thought it?
Her gaze caught on a lavish buffet on the elegant dining table.
‘Are we expecting guests?’ Ava frowned.
He halted and she felt his heartbeat slam against his ribs where he held her. She pressed her palm to his chest, loving the feel of him, relishing the fact that, for all his power, he was as affected as she.
‘Absolutely not! Why?’
She waved towards the antique table and he smiled, resuming his stride.
‘That’s our wedding breakfast.’
‘But there’s enough for an army.’
He slanted a glance at her that made a flock of butterflies in her stomach suddenly take flight.
‘The chef probably thought we’d need to keep up our strength.’
On those words they passed into a bedroom dominated by a massive four-poster bed, its covers turned down and its long, filmy curtains drawn back with ties of gold damask. The rich scent of roses wafted from crystal vases on the mantelpiece and pale petals were scattered across the sheets. Beside the bed a bottle nestled in a silver wine cooler.
The scene might have been a cliché, but from her vantage point in Flynn’s embrace it looked wonderful. It meant so much that he’d pulled out all the stops to make today romantic and special.
‘Oh, Flynn. This is gorgeous. Thank you.’
‘It’s my pleasure, believe me.’ He pressed a kiss to her hair and settled her on the bed. Then he turned to lift the bottle from its bucket.
Used to her father’s ostentatious displays of wealth, Ava nevertheless felt her eyes widen. The label belonged to a wine she’d heard of, never seen. It was famed as much for its exclusiveness as its quality. Few could afford it. Michael Cavendish would have given his eye teeth to taste it—more, to serve it to the people he’d always aimed to impress. Imagine his chagrin if he’d been alive to see the under-gardener’s son drinking it. The idea made her smile.
‘To us.’
The bed sank as Flynn sat beside her and passed her a glass of golden wine.
Ava took it, relieved to banish thoughts of her father. Warmth flooded her as Flynn’s hand brushed hers and she sank sideways a little, coming up against him.
‘To us.’
Holding his eyes, she lifted the glass and sipped. Luscious rich fruit danced on her tongue, then slid down her throat.
‘That’s amazing,’ she whispered, understanding why connoisseurs raved about it.
But far more amazing was the way Flynn made her feel.
She took another drink, savouring the deliciousness, then held out her glass. ‘But it’s not wine I want.’
Light flared in those dark eyes as he put their glasses on the table.
‘What do you want, Ava?’ His voice scraped softly, like fingers trawling through thick fur. She felt it as a ripple down her back.
‘You.’ Her hands went to his tie, dealing with the knot, then pulling it undone. Beneath her hands heat radiated up. ‘Only you.’ The tie arced through the air as she tossed it away and reached for his top button.
‘Since you ask so nicely, Mrs Marshall...’
He shrugged out of his jacket and dropped it to the floor, but the gleam in his eyes told her the humour was camouflage. His expression was hungry. He looked as if he wanted to devour her whole. It made her jittery, despite her excitement.
That had to be first-time nerves. There was nothing to worry about. Flynn loved her as she loved him. It was simply that for the first time he’d allowed her to glimpse the intensity of what he felt. Not possessiveness, but love, she assured herself.
Seconds later his shirt was gone and Ava sucked in a breath at his sculpted perfection.
Leanly built, Flynn nevertheless had muscles in all the right places. The symmetry of his body, the ripple of strength in his pectorals and tight abs drew her. She edged closer, that clean outdoor scent tickling her nostrils.
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