The Sinner's Marriage Redemption

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.