‘Will you marry me, Ava?’
Her stomach swooped and did an unnerving loop the loop. Her hand began to shake in his.
‘I want you in my bed, sweetheart. But I want much more. I want you to be my wife.’
‘I...’ She goggled. Never in her wildest dreams had she expected a proposal. Her heart soared. Flynn wanted to spend his life with her. He cared more than she’d ever guessed possible.
But marriage!
‘We’ve only known each other a week.’
His brows rose. ‘We’ve known each other for years.’
But how well? Seven years older than her, he’d usually been busy helping his father on the estate grounds, or running errands for his mother in the Hall kitchen. After he’d left for London she’d only seen him on brief visits home.
Yet despite that, she’d known his character. His integrity.
Then there’d been the night of the car crash. The night that had changed everything. Flynn had no idea how much his help had meant to her. Not merely because of the accident but because he’d given her time and respite to see that she’d had to go back and face her demons.
He’d cared for her as no one in that house had.
His support had strengthened her.
She’d been half in love with him even then.
Was it any wonder she’d fallen for him now? He embodied all she craved in a man: honour, respect, trust. Passion.
‘But...marriage!’
Still he knelt. He showed no self-consciousness.
‘You don’t like the idea?’
‘I’ve never thought of it.’ She’d never daydreamed of weddings—probably because she’d seen the reality of her parents’ marriage and knew it for a prison sentence, not a happy-ever-after. Even now, when she was in love with Flynn, the idea of marriage made her hesitate.
‘Think about it,’ he murmured. ‘You and me together.’
His eyes were smoky with passion and Ava gulped. Outrageous as the sudden proposal was, it was shockingly tempting. To be with Flynn always...
‘I need time,’ she blurted, then waited for his gaze to turn needle-sharp. When her father hadn’t immediately got his own way he’d had a look that could slice you off at the knees.
Flynn merely nodded and rose. ‘Of course.’
He looped her arm through his. His touch reassured, but the way he held her to his side smacked of possessiveness.
Instead of it rankling, Ava revelled in it. Flynn loved her! Shock mingled with delight.
‘Come on. There’s somewhere I want to take you. We can talk there.’
‘There’ turned out to be a luxurious terrace restaurant on the river. They had a perfect view of the Charles Bridge with its statues, the quaint Bridge Tower rising at one end and the old town. Swans and small craft glided across the glinting river.
Magically, although it was lunchtime, they had the place to themselves. Or perhaps not so magically. Ava saw the head waiter turning people away from the door.
‘Did you book out the whole restaurant?’ She gasped, half laughing at the absurdity of the idea.
Flynn took her hand across the starched white linen tablecloth, his touch warm, his eyes mesmerising. ‘I wanted to be alone with you.’
‘But...’ She knew he was successful. The little he’d told her about his business and the clothes he wore told her that. But to book an entire restaurant—moreover, one with such an air of exclusive luxury...? ‘Really?’
‘Really.’ He must have read her shock. ‘Don’t worry, I can afford it. But I’d much rather talk about us.’
Ava’s breath expelled in a fluttering sigh. Us. It sounded so good.
Flynn raised his crystal wine glass. ‘To our future together.’
Automatically she lifted her glass. ‘To the future.’
He smiled. ‘You’re still not sure.’
She took her time sipping the pale gold wine, tasting fruit, flinty soil and sunshine. Bubbles burst on her tongue and went straight to her head. Or perhaps that was the Flynn effect. When she was with him nothing seemed mundane or ordinary.
‘I’m still stunned. We don’t even know if we’re physically compatible.’
His expression altered, focused, igniting wildfire in her veins. ‘I think last night proves we’ve got no problems there. We’re combustible together.’
He stroked her wrist and she shivered. Her need for him was a gnawing ache.
‘But marriage is about more than physical attraction.’
Why was she arguing? She’d fallen for Flynn so completely she should be floating in seventh heaven. But a lifetime’s caution couldn’t be shucked aside in an instant.
‘You don’t think we’re compatible? You haven’t enjoyed our time together?’
‘Of course I have. It’s been...wonderful. I’ve never felt like this. But it’s only been a week.’
‘How long do you need to be sure? A month? A year?’ Flynn put down his wine and leaned forward, shifting a platter of exquisitely presented appetisers. ‘I knew the moment I saw you in Paris.’
Ava’s breath caught. Love at first sight? It sounded impossibly romantic.
Yet it was there in his face: absolute certainty. Her heart flipped over.
‘You care for me that much?’
‘You’re the one woman in the world for me, Ava. I’ve never wanted anyone else as my wife. You’re perfect in every way. Perfect for me.’
She heard the harsh edge of emotion in his voice.
‘You make me complete.’
‘Flynn...’ Her fingers meshed with his as he took her glass and put it on the table. Then he lifted her onto his lap with such negligent strength she would have been impressed if she hadn’t already been dazzled by his words and the gleam in his eyes.
‘Is it because you don’t care enough for me?’
His lips brushed her ear, making her shiver.
‘I care, Flynn. You know that.’
Despite a lifetime’s training in bottling up emotions, Ava had let her feelings show time and again. With Flynn, for the first time, that hadn’t seemed to matter. What they had was real and precious. Honest.
His smile was so smug she laughed, sudden elation swamping doubt.
‘Then say yes and I’ll give you the biggest, best wedding London can provide. The church, umpteen bridesmaids and a lavish reception. I can see you in white, with a long train and—’
‘No!’ She tensed, a flake of arctic frost drifting down her spine, chilling her.
‘Ava? What is it?’
She shook her head, trying to clear the shreds of dismay. ‘No big wedding. No white dress.’
‘But you’d look lovely.’
Flynn’s voice was warm as syrup but it failed to dispel the cold creeping into her bones.
‘No.’ She met his questioning stare. ‘Not white.’
Memory flashed an image of the long white evening gown she’d worn for that last winter ball at Frayne Hall. When she’d opened the