The Sinner's Marriage Redemption

Ava wore the heavy-lidded look of arousal, her lips dark red from their kisses.

Pain cramped his groin at what he was giving up.

‘Nothing’s wrong.’ Yet his voice wasn’t his own. It was the growl of a wounded, hungry bear denied food.

She swayed closer and his hold tightened. He stepped away, watching the haziness fade from her eyes.

‘This isn’t a good idea.’

If there’d been any lingering doubt about Ava’s inexperience the rosy flush to her throat and cheeks would have eradicated it.

Contrarily, Flynn found himself for the first time in his life turned on by the idea of a blushing virgin. Excitement that bordered on avarice hammered in his veins. He revelled in the knowledge that he’d be Ava’s first.

Just not now. She deserved better.

‘You mean—?’

‘Not here. Not now—like this.’ His gesture took in the wafer-thin walls and cramped quarters.

It struck him in that instant how much her life had changed since they’d first known each other. Then she’d never stayed anywhere except in five-star luxury.

Yet she hadn’t once complained about her altered circumstances. Instead she’d been upbeat about the chance to visit Prague on her two weeks’ vacation.

Ava’s chin hiked up. ‘If I don’t mind...’

‘But I do.’ He couldn’t keep his hands off her. Even pouting, she was delectable. His fingers trailed her throat, up to that argumentative chin. He had to repress a smile at her sensuous shiver. She was patently his for the taking.

He couldn’t believe he was doing the noble thing. It didn’t gel with his plans or his inclinations.

Yet he stepped away before he was tempted to haul her back against him. The half-dazed, half-angry expression she wore didn’t help. He wanted to wipe it away and replace it with that yearning look that made him feel larger than life.

His hands clenched, then spread wide.

‘I’d better go.’ Already he was moving away, his steps ludicrously stiff because of his erection.

The shocked, mutinous look on her face told him he should say more but for once words deserted him. It was all he could do to walk away. Yet something inside, something he hadn’t listened to in a long time, told him he was doing the right thing.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Ava.’

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_62c28844-ffc2-5186-a8be-69564445f511)

‘SEE YOU TOMORROW.’

Ava winced. Flynn had left her so casually.

Indignation welled, as it had all night. She avoided the mirror, knowing what she’d see. Anger, but disappointment too, and a flush that felt disturbingly like arousal. All night she’d been troubled by dreams that left her achy and longing.

Her lips pursed. What had she done wrong? Surely she hadn’t misinterpreted his eagerness.

She shook her head. She was doing it again: rehashing last night’s mortifying scene where he’d all but had to prise her hands off him.

As for his tight-lipped look as he’d said, ‘Not here, not now...’ It was naïve to think he’d been put off by their surroundings. Flynn might wear hand-made shoes and exquisitely tailored clothes, but he came from a working class family. She’d seen their modest cottage on the estate. There’d been nothing pretentious about the Marshalls.

Whatever made him leave last night it wasn’t her room. That only left her.

Pride told her it was ridiculous to think she was so unattractive she’d scared him off. He hadn’t found her unattractive when he’d kissed her.

Unless he hadn’t really wanted to.

She’d invited him to her room.

She’d initiated the kiss.

Could she have got it wrong?

A knock at the door ended her circling thoughts.

Flynn? Her pulse thudded and she knew a cowardly desire to pretend she hadn’t heard. Angry with herself, she put her shoulders back and marched to the door.

The man standing there was a foot shorter than Flynn and twice as wide. He held a boxed arrangement of exquisite peonies and camellias.

‘Miss Cavendish?’

At her dazed nod he smiled and thrust the arrangement into her arms. Then with a half-bow he turned and headed downstairs before she had time to recover.

Cradling the flowers, Ava backed into her room. They were so perfect they didn’t look real. But as she stroked a finger across one petal she was rewarded with a rich silken texture no man-made process could duplicate.

With unsteady hands she put them on the table. At once her small room morphed from economy class to luxurious and exotically enticing.

She plopped onto the bed.

In twenty-four years she’d never been given flowers. How pathetic was that? Men she’d dated had wanted to buy her drinks or meals, but never anything as romantic as flowers. These weren’t just romantic, they were flagrantly, unashamedly so.

An image surfaced of blood-red long-stemmed roses in an expensive florist’s box. Ava shuddered and thrust the memory away. Those hadn’t been a gift. They’d been a statement of possession.

She wrapped her arms around herself to dispel an inner chill and stared at the blooms—lush, sensual and gorgeous. She plucked the card from them.

They reminded me of you.

No signature, but they had to be from Flynn.

Ava blinked. They reminded him of her? She looked at the voluptuous splendour of the peonies, full-bloomed and extravagant, yet with their soft pink tint so delicate and feminine. And the camellias—pure white and elegant.

She frowned. Lush and voluptuous or neat and virginal?

How did Flynn view her?

Her figure was feminine, but hardly voluptuous. As for virginal—heat rose in her cheeks. Flynn couldn’t know that.